The Point of No Return
by soirblanche
Summary: Loki is faced with the ultimate punishment, in his eyes, at least : living in Midgard with the Avengers. Miserable and alone, and forced to face his inner demons, he finds that he is not the only one who dances on the fine line that represents the good and evil within us all. Loki and Natasha, at first adversaries, form an unlikely friendship. What will come of it?
1. The Return of Reindeer Games

**Hi! So, this is my very first fanfiction. It's a Loki fanfic, although he doesn't talk in this chapter. I'll explain all at the bottom.**

**Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the Avengers!**

Pepper and Tony Stark sat together on the croissant shaped sofa in the Stark lounge, sipping dark wine from tapered glasses, and watching late night TV with half-lidded, somnolent eyes.

Tony reached for the remote, desperate for a cure to end the null void that the show they were watching was, of a nun smoothing her crinkled papers, preparing to give a speech. What the hell? He flipped through the channels at lightning speed, squinting to see if he could make out a fragment of anything worthwhile.

"Tony, how can you tell if there's anything on?" Pepper asked, amused, watching his elongated antics.

"There's nothing on, " Tony groaned, and took his thumb off the channel switch to show what he meant.

"And so, like, I was so upset because no guy likes meee," Kim Kardashian whined.

"Never mind, change the channel, change the channel!" Pepper yelled.

"Nah, I want to watch some rich whores whine about their love lives," Tony declared, crisscrossing his fingers behind his head.

Pepper stared at him for a brief moment, an eyebrow twitching.

"I'm kidding, lighten up," he chuckled, and placed a kiss to Pepper's forehead. He grabbed the remote once again, and clicked off the TV.

"You didn't have to do _that,_" Pepper smiled.

"Well, there's no entertaining things on tonight, so, I guess we have to talk to each other now."

"What!" Pepper laughed, and playfully swatted him on the shoulder. He leaned in to kiss her, his hands on her hips. As he began to trail kisses down her jawline, he suddenly heard his cell- phone ring, blurting the outmoded song, 'Hips don't lie.'

Pepper burst out laughing, her serious composure broken through.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't judge me. Thor picked this ringtone, he's obsessed with Shakira."

"I didn't even know he _had _a phone," Pepper said.

"Banner taught him how to use it, and he's been obsessed ever since. He's always texting me about random shit." Tony hit ignore on the phone, looked back at Pepper, and said, "Now, where were we?" He was about to grace Pepper's lips with his once more, when 'Hips don't lie' started to blast, _again._

"Shakespeare doesn't give up, does he?" Tony grumbled, and picked up the phone.

"MAN OF METAL, I MUST SPEAK WITH YOU."

"Jesus Christ, Thor, have you ever heard of an inside voice?"

"I HAVE NO TIME FOR YOUR MIDGARDIAN WORDPLAY. THIS IS EXTREMELY URGENT, WE MUST TALK AT ONCE."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Why does it have to be urgent _now?_ Why can't it be urgent _later?_"

"I AM CURRENTLY AT YOUR FRONT DOOR. LET ME IN."

Tony hung up, and looked at Pepper, disappointment written all over his face. She smirked. "We'll have plenty of time for that later, answer the door."

They traveled down the gilded elevator, and Tony traced the keys with an eager finger, hoping to end the meeting as quickly as possible. When they reached the appropriate floor, Tony stepped out with Pepper in tow, and called for Jarvis to unlock the entrance. A voice projected through the intercom obliged Thor to enter the residence. Thor pushed open the iron-cast door, showing only half of his form. Then, he stepped into the room fully, revealing some guy draped over his bulbous shoulder. Thor was panting, his face flushed with scarcely hidden anguish.

"Greetings, friends!" Thor boomed, his voice at an aural-deteriorating decibel.

"What the fuck?!" Pepper yelled, her eyebrows raised to their pinnacle.

"Uh, Thor, you know, you could've told me that-" Tony stuttered.

Before he could finish, Natasha, Bruce, Steve, and Clint sauntered into the room, filling the air with palpable tension.

"Is this some sort of surprise party for me? My birthday was two months ago, though, and I'm not a big fan of unconscious strangers at parties. They're no fun," Tony protested. "And you guys have no party spirit either," he pointed out, shaking his head mockingly.

"Uh, that's no stranger," Bruce said, his eyes narrowing at Tony over his round glasses.

Thor threw the man down on a forest green chair that boarded a granite coffee table. The man's head dangled over the side of the metallic arm of the chair.

Tony walked over to reveal the man's identity, and after one quick look at him, he promptly turned around, and faced Pepper. "I'm dreaming...I have to be dreaming, because this is bat-shit crazy."

The man on the couch, after all, was none other than Loki. He was swathed in the identical formal garb he donned on the day he tried to subjugate the people of Stuttgart. Loki looked twice as unhealthy as he did on his prior visit to Midgard. His face was drained of obligatory color, and had a slight tint of pale gray on the sheen of his brow. A gargantuan bruise, that was the color of a dark violet, rudely stretched upon right side of his forehead. Sacks of plum sagged beneath his closed eyes, adding to his gaunt appearance.

It was given that Loki was probably mentally insane, but, he looked rather peaceful asleep, despite his various injuries, and his stagnant aura of abysmal health.

"Can someone explain?" Tony said. "Or is this twenty questions?"

Thor sighed. "When I brought Loki back to Asgard, Odin declared that for his punishment, he must spend time with me on Earth to achieve appreciation for the mortals. That visit I paid to Midgard so long ago changed my outlook on life forever," Thor said proudly.

"He's been to Midgard before. He tried to enslave the entire human race," Tony pointed out.

Pepper added, "I agree. I seriously doubt that a trip here would make him penitent."

The rest of the Avengers appeared to be in agreement (aside from Thor). Clint just glared at the unconscious man on the couch, remembering how Loki took advantage of his mind, with anger still fresh in his heart.

Steve said, "I do not think that he is necessarily evil, per se. It's just that he has a lot of inner turmoil, and believes that exercising power over harmless beings will grant him the acceptance he never had. Change could be possible."

"Change?!" blurted Clint, who then turned to Thor. "You should have put up a better fight with Odin. We spent the longest time being Loki's bitches, and fighting his alien army. Why the hell is he back here!"

"I thought we talked this through," Natasha said, glaring at Clint.

Voices began rising on all sides, with Steve trying to be the peacemaker.

"ENOUGH!" yelled Thor. "He has been stripped of his magic, his powers. He is nothing more than a mortal now."

"You could have told us that from the beginning," Bruce said.

Tony watched this all with amusement. "Okay, your fighting has been all in all hilarious, but in all seriousness, why the hell did you bring Loki _here_?"

"He needs to be under constant watch and care. You, metal man, operate a facility which will provide the correct tools for my brother to redeem himself. We shall all live here and keep watch."

Tony stared at Thor, unbelieving. "That's not your call, buddy."

Pepper added, "You can't just barge into our home, and demand residence here."

"Yeah, and dude, didn't Odin say that it was _your _responsibility, not ours?" Tony said, crossing his arms.

"Fury ordered us all to keep watch on Loki, and help him," Natasha said, tucking a lock of bright red hair behind her ear.

"This isn't Delusional Gods Anonymous, it's not our job," Tony argued.

"I really need your help," Thor begged.

"Why are none of you arguing?" Tony said, gesturing towards his friends, who were dutifully taciturn, save for Clint, who Natasha was talking quietly to. On note of Tony's statement, Natasha looked up at him.

"Cause we already did," she said, and rubbed her eyes. "It's pointless. Thor doesn't give up."

"Whatever. There's a lot of room. Guest rooms are on the tenth floor," Tony said, rolling his eyes, and ultimately sick of arguing with his friends. He also did not wish to deal with Fury.

Clint opened the front door, and walked out.

Thor scooped up his brother gently.

"Oh, how did Loki get that bruise, by the way?" Pepper asked.

"He was not overly fond of visiting Stark Tower," Thor replied.

Pepper gave him a questioning look.

"He broke all the windows in Thor's house, and set Thor's car on fire," Natasha said, looking bored. "So Thor knocked him out, and we drove them here."

The front door swung open at that moment, and Clint came in, carrying several suitcases. "Anyone wanna help?"

Tony now had a blinding headache. Not only was he stuck with Reindeer Games, but also the rest of the crazy Avengers, trying to redeem someone who seemed past the point of no return.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**This was incredibly fun to write, and I hope people will enjoy this story. I immediately began shipping Natasha and Loki after the scene in the cage. It will be a slow progression, as I cannot see them jumping into bed right away...I mean, it's the freaking Black Widow. **

**~Also~ Natasha will NOT get pregnant in this fanfic, or any other fanfics I may write about her. I'm saying this because there's a plethora of Natasha/Loki stories where she gets pregnant. I don't know if this just bothers me, or...**

**Oh, and I rated this story M for some violence, swears, and later on, sexual situations.**

**Feel free to review- I love 'em! I'm also totally open to criticism, as I believe it helps every aspiring writer develop their skills...as long as it's constructive. :)**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	2. Good Morning

**Author's note at the bottom, enjoy the chapter **

The dark that enveloped him, held him in its steel grip, finally let Loki loose. He slowly opened his eyes, sweat glistening on his brow, his hair matted to his neck. He realized, looking around, he was back in the library at the Asgardian palace. Mahogany bookshelves encased rows and rows of hard cover books with gold covers, sealed with the tears of angels, as Odin said. The floor was covered with soft vanilla colored carpeting, and had a cozy little green chair Loki loved to sit in, and read. He always had difficulty matching Thor in strength, speed…well, considering that his 'brother' was not the same species as him. Loki was never interested in any of the heroic stunts Thor did, so he spent quite a large amount of time reading books, turning the crisp pages, wishing he could just escape into one. While Thor was surrounded by his countless friends, Loki was surrounded by his true companions: books. After all, books didn't pretend to be related to him, they didn't lie to him, and they didn't make Loki feel like an outcast, a monster that no one could love. Tears swarmed his eyes just thinking about it. Loki stood up, shakily, dressed in his Asgardian armor. He took off his horned helmet, and set it aside. Loki wondered how he got here, who sent him. He headed to the tall door, and before he could place his hand on the doorknob, the door flew open, causing Loki to go careening to the ground. He looked up, to meet the eyes of Thor.

"Brother," Thor whispered.

"I am NOT YOUR BROTHER," Loki spat, and stood up, brushing dust off his pants.

"Let's talk about this," Thor said. "There's nothing to talk about," Loki retorted.

Suddenly Thor started to shake violently.

Loki stared at him in disbelief. "You are behaving like a child, a fool-"

Suddenly, Thor's face began peeling away in sharp shreds, and thick, purple, miniature horns began protruding from the cracked skin. Loki cried out, and turned to run, but the library's shelves were suddenly jutting into his back, preventing any escape. Thor let out an inhumane growl, akin to a lion seeking its prey. Thor suddenly stood, but he was no longer Thor. This man, well, Loki assumed it was a man, stood about seven feet tall, with dark violet skin, that had a reptile like texture to it. The skin itself was covered with thin dark hair. His forehead had horns, and abrasions sticking out, and his eyes, oh Valhalla, his eyes. Loki was hypnotized. They were the color of sapphires, and rimmed by a ring of orange that resembled the depths of a fierce fire. "Thanos," Loki breathed, recognizing the ominous creature, who struck fear into the fallen god's heart.

"You failed me," Thanos said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will make you long for something as sweet as pain." Thanos cracked his neck, and his eyes burned bright.

Loki couldn't breathe, or move, and suddenly felt a burning sensation around his neck, cutting deep. He let out a bloodcurdling scream, trying to summon his magic, any magic, but it would not come to him.

'YOU'VE FAILED EVERYONE, " Thanos roared. "ODIN, THOR, FRIGGA, AND NOW, A BEING WHOSE PRESENCE DICTATES YOUR FUTURE AND THOSE OF WHO TO COME,"

Loki felt the dark seep into the edges of his vision, fading out the image of Thanos and projecting him back to reality.

Loki woke with a jolt, his fingers grasping the cool sheets, his pulse thundering in his ears. He grabbed his neck, but no, no coils of fire there. It was all just a dream. Loki looked around and then realized, in panic, he was not in Thor's apartment. He had absolutely zero account of what had occurred the day before. He whispered an incantation, flicking his wrist.

Nothing happened.

Loki then remembered with crashing fury and frustration, that he was just…

He couldn't even bear to think the word…

A mortal.

He felt his fists clench. He absolutely loathed humans. They were the scraps of life, set aside from the fine dinner. Humans were weak, pathetic, they could not even defend themselves against the Chitauri. No, they screamed and ran, and it was just so easy to end their life. A mere flick with his wrist could snap just one vital bone that would end their existence.

And now he was one of these fragile beings. This fresh anger propelled him out of bed, and he strode to the windows, which had bright morning light shining through the blinds. He wrenched them open, and looked out.

He then realized, with horror, that he was in the Stark Tower. The very tower that he threw Tony Stark off of. Also, the tower where he experienced the greatest humiliation of his life: getting pummeled into the ground like a rag doll by that hideous green beast. He had to get out of here. Looking down, he realized that if he jumped, well, of course, he'd be reduced to nothing more than a bloody pulp and a pile of jagged bones.

He hated this. He hated being a human. He hated being weak. And most importantly, he hated having his brother be his babysitter. He swung his fist with full force at the window, which didn't crack at all. Instead, his hand felt like it was on fire, and he looked to see bruises beginning to swell under the reddened skin. Loki let out every swear he knew. The door burst open at that moment. Without looking to see who it was, he grabbed a nearby vase, smashed it, and pointed the sharp shard of glass in front of him.

"Put that away or I will blow your brains out, Loki," a husky, firm voice declared.

Loki met the dark green eyes of Natasha Romanoff, or, her ridiculous code name, Black Widow. She had a gun grasped tightly in her right hand, pointed straight in between his eyes.

Loki grinned at her, stepping towards her. "Oh, we both know you wouldn't do that," he said, staring into her eyes, which were now narrowed.

"Don't test me. The only reason why we haven't killed you is because of your brother."

Thor. The misstatement alone caused unfathomable rage. "HE IS NOT MY BROTHER, YOU FOOLISH MORTAL," Loki screamed. He leapt at Natasha, who leapt to the side and kicked him, hard, in the stomach. He bent over briefly, and stabbed the shard of glass deep into her calf. She smacked him very hard in the head, grabbed his arm, and pinned it against his back. Using her knee, she pressed him into the ground, and placed the cold, metal gun against the back of his head. Surprisingly, he said nothing.

Natasha glared at him, wary that he might have tricks up his sleeve. Just like he did last time, at the glass cage. She briefly released her hold on his arm, and pulled out her comlink. "Hey, Thor? Yeah, Loki woke up."

* * *

Natasha cuffed Loki, and grabbing the back of his dress shirt (he really needed to change out of that), she tugged him along. She was wearing heels, so she didn't have to stretch too much to reach his neck. He was over six feet, and she was just 5'5".

When they got to the elevator, he shrugged off her hand, and got very close to her face. Her eyes widened, looking into his bright emerald eyes, which were absolutely saturated with barely held back rage. "Someday," he said. "I will achieve my glorious powers back. And when I do, I will tear you limb from limb, until every drop of blood-" She clamped her hands over his mouth, which caused his eyes to widen, in disbelief. Not like he could do anything. He was tied up, and couldn't walk without her assistance. Natasha pulled a syringe out of her pocket, full with clear liquid. "Say one more threatening word to me, and I will sedate you. Don't push me."

The elevator arrived, and Loki sat on the floor, staring into space. Natasha looked at him, and almost felt pity.

Yes, the guy was a certified lunatic. But something about him was completely off. He looked like he hadn't had a good sleep in ages, his undershadows looked like bruises, his hair was greasy and sticking up (his hair was never greasy, weird that she would notice that), and he sat with his shoulders slumped. Yes, he seethed, and raged, and threatened. But beneath that, she could tell he was hurting. It was odd, the ways she and Loki were similar. I mean, she obviously wasn't a psychopathic tyrant looking to rule the world, but certain aspects of Loki's personality she could relate to.

Loki watched the elevator doors open, and felt humiliation coat his heart. Natasha dragged him out. Since she had threatened to sedate him, he had settled to spew venom through his eyes. He watched her with unabashed hatred. Even more irritating was the fact that the mortal did not appear to care at all, or notice.

"Now, listen up," Natasha said, looking at him. He glared back. "I am going to untie you. The rest of the Avengers are having breakfast, and you are going to join us-" "Never mind, you can sedate me," Loki said, rolling his eyes.

Natasha smirked. "Nope, I think this will be more entertaining than sedating you."

**Author's note:**

**So, we get to see what's going through Loki's head. As we see, he is full of anger, and also extremely humiliated. Loki & Natasha have their first encounter, but, er, it's not exactly the friendliest one. After all, Natasha is one of many in the race Loki violently abhors.**

**This is also not one of those stories where Loki finds love right away, and you know, la di da di da. Because, Loki hates himself. He says he hates all these people, but to be honest, he's his worst enemy. And it's very hard to receive and give love to other people if you don't love yourself.**

**Oh, by the way, I'm going on vacation for twelve days, so I won't update until then (if anyone is actually reading this!).**

**Please review!**

**Love you all **


	3. Bohemian Rhapsody

**Author's note at bottom, please read! Oh, and enjoy the story!**

Loki walked in front of Natasha, down another hallway, which had countless portraits of the horrendous Stark and what he presumed to be his girlfriend. One picture was of them on a beach, Stark's arm around her shoulders, and her mouth was open in a laugh. Blech. Loki wanted to vomit right there and then. He suddenly felt a harsh prod to his back.

"Move faster," snapped Natasha.

Loki rolled his eyes. Why were some mortals so commanding, when they hold such a weak position in the universe? It baffled him.

As they were nearing the end of the hallway, Loki heard voices chattering excitedly, and the clang of utensils. The aroma was pleasant, although he refused to say so. He stopped right there, in the middle of the hallway, frozen. Natasha almost crashed into him. She walked in front of Loki, and stared him down. Loki's eyes were trained on the smaller walkway probably leading into the kitchen.

"C'mon, you've done your fair share of antagonizing, and trying to make us kneel," Natasha said, and let out a very unladylike snort.

Loki glared at her.

"I'm pretty sure you can survive one breakfast session with us."

"I positively loathe all of you."

Natasha shrugged. "The feeling is mutual. Especially because you manipulated my friend."

"Ah, the one with the arrows? Too bad he did not fulfill my promise I made to you in the cage. It would have been rather humorous. Funny that you choose the word 'friend' however, considering that he once almost ended your life, darling Na-"

Natasha cut Loki off from his daunting monologue. "Say one more word, and I'll cut out that silver tongue of yours," she hissed.

Loki rolled his eyes once more.

They finally arrived into the kitchen, which was enormous. The kitchen had a vanilla-mocha tiled floor, complete with a stainless steel refrigerator, an ebony island that had a built in bookshelf, and three bottles of wine sitting on top of it. In the middle of the kitchen was a tall round table supported by curled metal legs. Sitting at this table was Tony Stark, Pepper, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, and Steve Rogers. Loki noticed that in the middle of the table were a pile of weird, brown, lumpy shaped items, and large glasses filled with an orange beverage.

"Morning, guys," Natasha said.

They all looked up to say good morning, but the greeting froze on their lips when they saw Loki.

"Brother!" Thor cried.

Loki glared at him. Everyone was silent.

"This is pretty awkward," piped up Tony.

Natasha gripped Loki's elbow. "C'mon, Loki, there's a seat right there."

He yanked his elbow out of her grip, disgusted. "Touch me again you unwashed miscreant, and I will end you."

He then swiftly walked to the island, sat on one of the chairs there, making sure his back was to the foul Avengers.

"And good morning to you too!" Tony said, and winked. He then picked up his paper and resumed reading.

Natasha quickly limped off to the bathroom before joining. She was wearing a protective skin suit under her clothes, and so the glass that Loki attacked her with only gave her a slight scratch. She disposed of it, and returned to the table.

"Any improvement?" Thor boomed.

She winced. He was a really loud talker.

"I can hear you," Loki said nonchalantly.

"Remember," said Pepper, "Inside voices."

"Do you believe there's any improvement?" Thor repeated, albeit quiet.

Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm telling you, his brain's a bag full of cats," Banner said, shoving a pile of eggs into his mouth.

Natasha looked back on him. Loki sat, perfectly straight, his head held high. "Well, he still has his enormously large ego," she said.

"Oh, people with large egos," Tony said, shaking his head. 'Impossible to live with."

Pepper let out a burst of laughter.

"You know, he really should eat something," Natasha said.

"Tasha, why do you care what he does? Just leave him alone," snapped Clint.

"No, Natasha is right," said Thor. "Who shall bring him a plate of food?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "What, Reindeer games is some sort of princess? Is it really that hard to walk five feet to grab a pancake?"

They suddenly heard a creak, and turned to see Loki getting up, and walking out. "Loki, get back here!" said Thor.

There was no reply.

Natasha ended up finding Loki at the elevator, trying to figure out how the darn thing worked.

They gave him some eggs, which he ate some of, declaring with each bite, "This is an abomination. You should taste the delicacies in Asgard."

And Thor would reply, in a very sanguine way, "Ahh, but brother! The food here is equivalent to the splendors of our home!"

Loki usually would give him a homicidal look that would make everyone laugh nervously and secretly think, "Odin, whoever you are, you really are horrible at parenting."

He thought the food was abysmal, and he would rather stick needles in his eyes than have to endure a meal with those awful people again. He did not want to admit it, but he was incredibly embarrassed that Natasha had managed to beat him down. If he had his powers, she would be nothing more than a pile of broken bones on the floor. He held the most disdain for Thor, however. Thor had the nerve to call him 'brother' and constantly reference Asgard, the place that he did not belong in. It was the place that ridiculed him, the place that had stripped him of everything he cherished and cast him out. Oh, the agony.

* * *

The Avengers sat in the Stark Lounge, having a meeting, unfortunately, about Loki.

Barton was the first to speak. "This is not working. I want to be out of this."

"How would you know that, man of arrow? We have just started Loki's treatment. I care immensely for him, and he needs to regain who he once was. Maybe some day, he can even be part of our team," Thor said.

Tony choked on his drink.

Clint just stared at Thor in disbelief.

"Loki needs to atone for the things he has done wrong," Steve said. "He murdered Phil. He was a friend, he was a hard worker, he fought for what he believed in. We cannot let Loki forget that." Steve looked at the ground, remembering the conversation he and Phil had, where Phil told him how much he loved Captain America, and the trading cards. It made him very sad.

"I agree," Natasha said, and the rest concurred.

Phil Coulson was a friend to them, and his death had stirred something inside of them.

"But how?" asked Natasha. "Loki can't exactly bring Phil back to life."

"No," agreed Steve. "_But, _he can give his condolences."

"You want him to visit Phil's grave?" Banner asked, an eyebrow raised.

"He'll refuse. What's the point? He probably doesn't even feel bad about it." Natasha felt uneasy. She knew how much Loki hated humans.

Thor buried his face in his hands. He remembered seeing Loki pierce Phil's chest, and Thor could do nothing about it. He fell for one of Loki's tricks, and by doing so, caused Phil's death. Everyone disagreed, saying that Loki's nature was devious, and that he was the reason for Phil's murder. No one else.

"You know, it might make him feel bad," Steve said.

"Loki? Feel bad?" said Tony.

Pepper winced. "Don't think so. He threw Tony out of this tower. He seems really laidback with harming and killing people."

Everyone did agree, but ended up deciding that Loki needed to at least see how death affected people. Perhaps their sadness would cause him to be extremely uncomfortable, even.

* * *

Natasha received Loki again, and he said nothing to her, as usual. They piled in Stark's limo and set off on the road.

Loki had no idea where they were taking him. He assumed that they were going to try to make him feel guilty about something. After all, Odin had said that he needed to learn to appreciate the humans. This meant that Loki would have to feel sorrow, and try to repent the horrors he inflicted upon humans. But Loki did not care about the mortal race, so he was probably going to be stuck on Midgard for quite some time.

He leaned his head against the window, and a lock of raven hair fell in his eyes. _I really need a shower, _he thought. But he had had no time for one. The whole group appeared to be a fan of 'rush and go.'

The limo pulled off the highway, into the suburbs. Loki noticed with distaste how green this planet was. Trees were in packs, their long, crooked limbs reminding him of the arms of some of the animals at home. The grass was long, and there were countless flowers poking out of the ground. Loki did not understand the need for this scenery. Humans were selfish, and did not appear to even care about the botanical life of their planet.

The car suddenly stopped, and Loki peered outside to see an arch stature, reading 'Rose Hill Cemetery." A cemetery? Why were they visiting a cemetery?

"What is your reasoning for this?" Loki demanded.

"You'll see," Steve said, and looked at Loki.

Loki noticed with disgust how much this man loved his country, right down to his ridiculous costume, to the pride he had in his eyes. And for what? Why? Humans were a despicable race.

In the cemetery, they walked amidst the long grass that tickled their legs. Loki was still extremely confused, and everyone was silent. Even Tony Stark, the man who loved arguments almost as much as Loki did. They suddenly stopped in front of a large tomb stone, which had a good sized stone eagle on the top, holding a stone ribbon in its mouth, that read: "Thank you for serving our country." Loki read the epitaph, and then remembered. This was the grave of that foolish mortal who attempted to prevent Loki from escaping, back at the glass cage. He hadn't thought much of the kill, but apparently the Avengers really wanted him to remember it. Loki looked at them. They all stood, unsmiling, staring at him.

"Loki," Thor began. "You killed a comrade of ours, a friend. What you did was evil. And for that, you must give your condolences."

Loki scoffed.

"Oh, please. You mortals are so weak, it is hilarious."

Suddenly, Thor's hands clenched Loki's slender arms, squeezing so hard, he cut off his circulation. Thor's eyes bore into Loki's indifferent ones.

"I know that you do not care. That is sickening. I love you, you are my brother, somewhere deep down. But this person, that you are pretending to be," Thor shook Loki lightly, "I do not know. Give at least a half- hearted apology. Please stop being so insolent, at least for this allotted time."

Thor let Loki go, and he felt blood rush into his upper arms again, bringing relief.

Loki stared at the chiseled gray rock, formulating in his mind what he would say. He had nothing to say, really, but he wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible. He cleared his throat. There was a pregnant pause.

"Well, go on," Clint said, in a very annoyed tone.

Loki had to refrain from placing his hands around Clint's neck, and squeezing until he felt his esophagus pop out.

"I did not know you," Loki said, stating a truth.

Oh, Valhalla. This was idiotic. His head started to throb.

"What I did…" he started. He looked at the sky, which had a scattering of storm clouds, and then back at the grave.

"Was awful," he said, in a smooth lie. "I apologize," he said, in a somewhat cold tone. He heard someone exhale sharply. Steve stepped forward and placed flowers by the tomb stone.

They then left, with Loki feeling incredibly angry that he had to be so submissive, and a bit numb, plagued with nightmares that threatened to play out into reality.

* * *

~ Back in Asgard~

Odin sat alone outside of the palace, staring out into the sherbet colored sky, not thinking about anything in particular, pushing all nagging thoughts out of his mind. He picked up on soft footsteps coming towards him.

"Frigga?" he questioned.

"Hello," she said, and stood beside him, her curled hair gathered at her waist.

He smiled at her, and attempted to hold her hand, but she pulled hers away sharply. He turned to look at her.

"I came to talk to you about our son," she whispered.

Odin's face adopted a saddened look. "I'm listening," he said, quietly. Her eyes were full with tears.

"I took a look at him using _Ser Dammen." _

"And?" he said.

"Have you _bothered _to look at him in this condition?" she cried, tears coursing down her face.

"My queen, please do not cry. I have, I assure you."

"Oh, you have not. He is becoming _worse. _He is resentful. He thinks we do not love him."

"He is our son," Odin stated.

"Yes, but he believes that we don't love him, and he does not think of us as our parents. Oh, we never told him about Laufey because we wanted to protect him, but maybe…but maybe…"

Odin said, "Frigga, we have tried, and I take the blunt of all mistakes. Do not attack yourself."

Frigga stared at him with glassy eyes. "I'm his _mother. _Of course I have to. Maybe not biologically. But in my heart, I feel as though he's my true son. I love him. Yes, he's made mistakes, but we all have. I want him to come home."

"Being on Midgard did wonders for Thor," Odin declared.

Frigga wiped tears from her face with her fingers. "Loki and Thor are completely different. What worked for Thor will not necessarily work for Loki."

"In time, Loki will come to terms," Odin said, trying to reassure his wife.

Frigga glared at him.

"And what if he does not? Tell me what you will do then," she snapped, and stalked back to the palace, in anger, missing her son.

**Author's note:**

**Sorry that it's been so long! I just got back from vacation today, and started typing as soon as I got home. So, here's a chapter for you! When I checked my story, I found that I had follows and favorites. It was such a nice surprise. I'm glad you like it, thanks for the support! Oh, and a special thank you to d1x1lady for the lovely review. I really appreciate it.**

**Anyways, about the story! **_**Ser Dammen **_**is Norwegian for 'looking pond.' I figured that they must have some way of seeing Loki. This chapter was sad, but I felt that Loki needed to face the consequences and see what he did. Also, I wanted to show how Thor, Odin, and Frigga felt about him. In the next chapter we'll learn a bit about Natasha, and what happened at Budapest. I was curious about that, so I made up my own version.**

**Thanks for the support (again) & please review,**

**Love you all!**


	4. It's a Hard Life

**In this chapter, there's a little bit of Russian and French spoken. The translations are in the author's note at the bottom. Enjoy!**

Thor and Natasha were talking together in the Stark library, a room that was serene and held no disturbances. "Lady Natasha," Thor began.

"Just call me Natasha," she said, breaking into a grin.

"I have spoken to my brother earlier," Thor said.

She raised an eyebrow. That must not have gone well. She was just sitting in her bed, reading a Russian magazine, when Thor paged her comlink and asked to speak to her. She was not completely sure why. After all, it seemed he wanted to have a heart to heart about Loki, and in truth, Steve was the most compassionate one of the group. She was baffled as to why Thor didn't choose Steve to rant about his Loki. But when she saw Thor, he had the unmistakable look of sorrow in his eyes. And so, she didn't have the heart to turn him down.

" How did that go?" Natasha asked.

Thor sighed, and then recounted the entire meeting.

* * *

Thor went into Loki's room to speak with him. Loki was sitting on a chair, staring out the window, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Brother," Thor stated.

Loki turned around, his green eyes fixated on Thor, narrowed with anger. "I am NOT your brother. How DARE you make a mockery of me."

"Loki," Thor said, adopting a pleading tone: "You don't remember us being not only brothers, but friends-"

"Maybe once," said Loki, "But not now."

Loki then stood, and walked over to Thor. "YOU ARE THE LAST PERSON I WISH TO SEE. I HAVE NEVER BEEN EQUAL TO YOU. DO ME A FAVOR, AND LEAVE," Loki yelled, and pushed Thor, who stumbled back.

"What have I done to you? Please, let me know," Thor begged.

"It is FAR too late for that," Loki rasped. "You may beg, you may squander, but in fact, you are now just as feeble as the rest of this despicable race. No one has ever had any sentiment for me. You are father's favorite, everyone LOVES YOU, Thor. Oh, how the crowds cheered when you walked through the halls, treating you as some god from Valhalla! Oh, how the girls fawned over you! Oh, how the boys wished to be you! But me? But ME? OH, I WAS THE MONSTER THAT ODIN HIMSELF USED AS TOOLS TO SCARE US SO THAT WE WOULD BEHAVE AS CHILDREN, BUT WHO KNEW THAT MONSTER WAS CONSTANTLY LURKING!" Loki was breathing hard, tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

"Brother," Thor said, his voice cracking. Loki turned his face to the side. Thor continued, "You were my favori-"

"Oh, that is complete insanity, your favorite is that weak mortal woman you LOVE sooo much," Loki spat.

"I love Jane," Thor said. "But I love you too. You are my brother. You have always been my favorite, you have always been my companion over the years. And Odin does love you. He cast me out once too, can't you remember?"

"Oh, please," Loki said, rolling his eyes. "How is it any different? I have always been a cast out, really, even in Asgard!"

"Loki, I just want to help you," Thor pleaded.

"Just leave me be, your presence is toxic," Loki hissed.

Thor finally did depart, and felt like his heart was broken in two pieces.

* * *

"Uh, wow," Natasha said, unsure of how to console the demigod. "Um, that is not good…"

"No," Thor said. "It's not. I need your help." Natasha's eyebrows shot up. "My help? How can I possibly help Loki?"

"I recall him telling you your ledger was gushing, dripping red…"

Natasha looked at the ground, and then back at Thor. "I have done bad things before. I have killed. I have been in the wrong."

Thor looked at her. "I feel that you might understand Loki's actions better than I can."

"I can relate," admitted Natasha. "But, I seriously doubt he is going to be open to having a chat with me. Loki doesn't seem like the sentimental type, and neither am I."

Thor replied, "No. But, I feel you may be able to reach Loki in time…you two are both masters of the mind, skilled in your art."

Natasha gave him a wry smile. "Thank you. You know, I have been in that position where I've felt vengeful, and hateful, and instead of dealing with my real problems, I chose the wrong path."

Thor suddenly broke out into a grin. "I finally have hope!" He embraced Natasha, who suddenly felt a bit awkward, but gave him a slight pat on the back.

* * *

Natasha lay in her bed, and stared at the ceiling, sleep missing her completely. There were some days that went by normally for her, and then, there were days that she had to relive her worst nightmares, the ones that filled her heart with remorse.

But eventually, she did.

_The little girl sat at the dinner table with her parents, digging heartily into the borsch soup her mother had cooked. She held her dollenka in her lap, a beloved toy she had since she was a baby. Her sister sat next to her, drawing circles on the table with her index finger. _

"_Annochka, eсt пожалуйcta. я долга рабоtало на еtо."_

_Anna Romanova barely listened. Natasha, on the contrary, had always been a big eater. The family lapsed into silence. This serenity was harshly broken by a loud knock on the door. Natasha's father started to get up, but her mother said, " Het проблемa, я могу оtпереtб." Mr. Romanoff watched his wife walk to the door, and continued reading his paper. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, and they heard a loud 'thump.' Natasha screamed, clutching her doll. They heard brutish yells at the door, and boots trampling on the ground. The family had started to get up, but not fast enough. Five officers appeared in the kitchen, yielding guns. Natasha was now trembling, tears pouring down her four year old face. Anna grabbed Natasha's hand._

"_чtо вы делал с моя жена?" Mr. Romanoff yelled, his arms restrained by two officers._

_One officer appeared in front of him, sporting a well groomed goatee and eyes that had the persona of death. _

"_вы ни дала мне чtо я хоtело," the officer said simply. _

"_Y_ _мне две дочки, ни вредиtб их!," Mr. Romanoff pleaded. _

_Anna grasped Natasha's hand, and their frightened eyes rested on their father's, who was bargaining- but what for? _

_The officer stared at them for a second, and then said, "il n'a pas tenu sa promesse. Prenez les deux filles, et tuez-le. Assurez-vous qu'ils voient, qu'ils sachent bêtise est récompensé."_

_Anna and Natasha were very confused, as they did not know a single word of French. But suddenly, their father said to them that he loved them so much, and no matter what, to lead good lives. They got scared, and Anna started to yell at the officers, who came and pinned her and her sister down. The officer who spoke lifted a gun, and placed it to their father's forehead. His eyes pleaded with them to understand. They were screaming, crying, and then there was a single shot, and their father slumped to the floor. They were hysterical, and the soldiers dragged the girls out of the room, their memories permanently scarred. Natasha was slumped over an officer's shoulder, and they passed by her dead mother, sprawled on the floor, a dark red blossoming beneath her blue dress. Natasha started kicking, screaming, hoping…_

Natasha jolted awake, breathing hard. It took a little while for her heart to stop beating against her ribcage. She ran a hand through her dampened locks and stared at the clock. _2:42 a.m. _She groaned, and swung out of bed. She absolutely hated when this happened. Sometimes she slept peacefully, and had no recollection of a dream. The only dreams she has are bad ones, and some of them are simply resurrected memories, none of which are pleasant. Usually in her apartment back home, she would go and relieve stress by either a) alcohol, or b) exercise. She opted for option B, because a criminal was currently residing in the building, and she needed to have her wits as sharp as they could be. Loki was, after all, the 'God of Mischief.'

* * *

Loki had awoken from yet another nightmare, and was now resting in the bathroom, his elbows propped up on the sink, and his fingers embedded in his hair. The whole day had been an utter disaster. First, Thor antagonized him (although a part in him suggested he was being sincere). Loki refused to eat or drink all day, so he ended up really dehydrated. He was able to go for a long time, usually, without drink or food. But as a mortal, he had to constantly consume both just to get through the day. He suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic in the small bathroom, like he had been once when he was a little boy. There had been an open closet door in one of palace rooms, and he was curious. But the closet must have been enchanted, because as soon as he got in, the door slammed shut, and he was stuck there for about three hours. Loki abruptly left his room, to approach the dark hallway. He had absolutely no idea where to go. He could not escape, due to the fact that Stark had his stupid robots posted at every exit. He decided to just navigate random floors using the elevator, and pray that no one would wake up. Loki stepped inside, and noticed in the elevator a leaflet indicating which floor led where. How did he not notice this? Was he losing his keen sight? But then, Loki remembered, he was furious the last time he was here, and had not bothered to pay attention to anything. Anyways, on the top floor happened to be an exercise room, and the library. Loki felt weak as a mortal, and maybe with some type of workout he could fool himself into thinking he had regained his strength. Or, he could read. He did love books. He was unsure about Midgardian books, but he had read a fair share of Shakespeare, which he found to be quite interesting.

So, Loki made his way up to the last floor, and when he got out, he noticed the hallways were pitch black. He groped along the wall to find some kind of light switch. If he had his magic, he could produce some sort of light. Thinking about his loss of magic just made him angry and distracted, so Loki tried to push it to the back of his mind. His tread upon the floor was very soft, as he had perfected it. He had done pretty well hunting back in Asgard due to that. Thor's heavy footsteps usually would sent all the animals running.

Loki suddenly collided with a hard, moving object. He almost flew to the ground, but managed to regain his balance. The figure yelled out, and he quickly kicked, his foot colliding with whoever it was with a _thump. _He suddenly felt a fist graze his jaw, and arms come out to grab his. "Who is this?" he said.

"Natasha, who's this?"

"Loki," he said, albeit nervously.

He was suddenly released, and the lights flickered on. Natasha faced him, her hair rumpled, and her eyes bloodshot.

"Are you drunk?" Loki asked, smirking.

"No," she said sharply, her eyes narrowing."Are you?"

Loki chuckled. "Why do you ask? Surprised I'm wandering the hallways at night? How about you? "

"Are you trying to escape? Because that's pretty dumb," she said.

Loki sighed, and said, "No. I could not sleep. I needed to clear my mind. "

"I see," Natasha said.

She looked at the ex-demigod, searching his face to see if he was lying. But no, all she could see were bags under his eyes, and his thin, wan face appeared almost pitiful.

"Well," she continued, "Same."

_Maybe, I could try to talk to him._

"Now, isn't that lovely," he said wryly. "I guess I'll depart now," Loki said, turning to go leave.

Natasha quickly said, "Wait. No. It's okay. I get it, you've had a rough couple of days. You really should blow off some steam."

Loki stood for a moment, contemplating. "All right," he said, shrugging his shoulders as he walked past her.

She followed him into the room, feeling a bit weirded out that she'd be training along with Loki. But, whatever. Thor had asked her to, well, 'help him.' Er, okay. She didn't think that she was the right person to play therapist, considering that she probably needed therapy herself to fix the countless years of damage.

She scanned the exercise room, the scent of leather filling her nose. The fluorescent lights shone brightly in the large room. There were large blue exercise mats placed on the floor. There were dark brown punching bags hanging from the ceiling. Collected by the side were a pile of those bags. There was a boxing ring, targets for shooting practice, treadmills, ellipticals, and a metal display case containing possibly every weapon, except for guns.

"This is insanely puny," Loki said.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Well, if you don't like it, just leave."

"Snarky, today, aren't we?" Loki said, smirking.

Natasha let out a laugh. "And you aren't?"

"I am not denying that I am, I'm the God of Mischief," he said, raising his head in pride.

Natasha replied, "_Ex-_god."

She suddenly ducked, and a knife went deep into the padded wall on the opposite end. She immediately pulled out the gun holstered to her hip, and turned to face Loki, his face in a slight grin.

Her grip on the weapon was firm, and the barrel was pointed at his face. "You said before that I wouldn't shoot you. I can change that."

Loki stared at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes blank. "I was just testing you..._Tasha." _

She felt a slight prick of annoyance at his mockery of Clint's nickname for her, and readjusted the grip of the gun in her slippery hand. "You currently share a building with a demi-god, Iron Man, Captain America, Clint, Hulk, and me. You haven't had the best time with any of them, and lucky for you, my friends would like nothing more than to puncture your eye with an arrow."

Loki was silent, watching her in contemplation.

She continued, "And, let us not forget how Bruce used you as his personal punching bag, all-right?"

Loki's mouth twitched.

"You really shouldn't antagonize someone who holds a gun," Natasha said. "Okay?"

He still remained taciturn.

"OKAY?" Natasha repeated, at a louder decibel.

"Fair enough," he replied, and dragged one of the bulbous punching bags over from the wall. He struggled to lift it up, and then hung it on a hook projected from the ceiling. Loki then positioned his feet in a half-moon stance, and raised his fists in preparation.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, surprised that he hadn't lay out a new row of complaints against her. "Um," she said, "Aren't you going to wear gloves, or bandages at least? You'll scrape up your knuckles."

"No," he scoffed. "In Asgard, when I was training, I never hurt my hands."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She slipped on her training gloves, and tied back her short hair. She focused on all of her stress, her pent up anger, and let it out on the bag. She was silent as she left punch after punch, an uppercut, a knifehand, a palm strike. She resorted to simple punches, and then started to kick. She jumped in the air to do a flying roundhouse, and landed softly in a crouch. She did a front flip and performed a side kick to the bag, which fell off the hook and thudded to the floor. She had a sense that Loki was watching her. But when she turned to call him out, he was busy. He was lithe, smooth in operation, and hit with certainty. Before long, his came off the hook as well. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, sweat dripping off his narrow nose, and his long, thin fingers were still in a fist. He suddenly turned around.

"What?" he asked.

"Have you ever heard of capoeira?" she inquired.

Loki looked at her for a moment, eyes searching hers. "Where did I grow up?"

"Uh…Asgard?" Natasha replied, a little bit confused.

"Exactly. So explain to me how I would know that Midgardian term," Loki said.

Natasha said, "Capoeira is a martial art technique that comes from Brazil. It's graceful, and it's sort of a sneak and attack thing. It's similar to your fighting style, actually."

"So, you have been watching me pretty well, Miss Romanova." Loki said softly, in a condescending tone.

Natasha let out a breath. "First off, why did you-"

"Isn't that a Russian tradition? At least that's what your boyfriend said to me," Loki said, interrupting her.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I used to say my last name was Romanoff in Russia, just to mess with people, and it kind of stuck. Oh, and Clint is _not _my boyfriend," she said, her voice dropping a level.

Loki held out his hands. "No need to become angry, but it seems like he has a crush on the little spider."

Natasha crossed her arms. She thought about Clint a bit, but everything he had said and done was purely platonic.

"Clint is just my fighting partner. Why do you care anyways, Loki? Do you have a crush on me?" Natasha was just teasing, and she was curious to see what Loki would say. He would probably just laugh at her.

Turns out she was correct. Loki did laugh, and said, "A _crush_? On a _mortal_? Oh, Natasha, how you make me laugh."

Natasha smirked, and suddenly yawned. She looked at the clock projected on the wall, and it read: _4:00 a.m. _"I'm going back to bed," she said. "I suggest you do the same."

"Don't order me around, woman," Loki sneered.

But just as the elevator doors were closing, she saw him leave the exercise room, and turn off the lights.

Huh. That was not what she had expected at all.

**Author's note:**

**Well, there you go. I find that each chapter gets longer, and longer. And that's good, in my opinion. : )**

**So here are the translations in order of which they appear:**

**Annochka is a pet name for Anna. (I know this because I speak Russian, lol). "Eat, please, I worked for a long time on that."**

**No problem, I'll get it.**

**What did you do with my wife?**

**I have two daughters, don't harm them.**

**He did not fulfill his promise. Take the two girls. Make sure they know how stupidity is rewarded.**

**Oh, and when I was copying and pasting the Russian words from some site, some letters didn't paste right, and I tried like five times to fix it. So, if you are Russian and see that, sorry!**

**I also decided to break up all of Natasha's memories into various chapters, instead of bunching it all together in one huge chapter. So please be patient! In time, you'll find out what happened in Budapest.**

**Anyways, I hope you all are enjoying the story, please review!**

**Love you all!**


	5. Good Company

The next morning, when Natasha entered the kitchen, all eyes were trained on her. Steve's eyes immediately darted away, and he went back to wolfing down his waffles. Thor looked serene. Tony had a smirk on his face, and raised his coffee cup to Natasha. Worst of all, Clint just simply glared at Natasha, in an almost menacing way. Loki wasn't downstairs, as usual. Natasha was incredibly confused. Did she have toilet paper hanging on her shoe or something? She looked down, but no, her shoe was clear of any bathroom necessities.

"Um, where's Pepper?" she asked, hoping to break the awkward silence.

"Still sleeping," Tony said, his shoulders shaking a bit, in a laugh.

Natasha was now frustrated. "What the hell is going on here?"

Clint was the first to speak. "Why don't you tell us?"

She glared at Clint. What crawled up his ass? Suddenly, an idea popped into Natasha's brain. Oh God, they didn't know about her little escapade with Loki, did they?

_Play it cool. Play it cool, _she thought to herself.

"I have no clue what you're talking about, Clint. Jeez. Is this how you usually greet people in the morning?" she said, grabbing a plate, and serving her-self eggs.

Natasha then yawned. "Where's the coffee?"

"You certainly need it after last night," Clint snapped.

Natasha whipped around, and her eyes widened.

Tony raised his hand up. "Natasha, it's okay. Sometimes when a girl meets a homicidal maniac, she falls in lo-"

"Oh shut up," she cried, "How did you find out?"

"I'm Tony Stark," he said, as if that would explain everything.

"Elaborate."

"I have secret cameras hidden everywhere," Tony said, in a very matter of fact way. "There's even one in that loaf of bread." He signaled to the solitary loaf sitting on the kitchen island.

"It was unintentional," she insisted. "And, besides, he is absolutely miserable. I felt, well, kind of-"

"Oh, no," Clint said. "Oh, please. Do not say that."

Everything was deadly quiet. Thor watched the exchange with wide eyes. Tony got out his phone, and pressed record.

"Say what, Clint?" Natasha said coolly.

"Do not fucking tell me that you feel BAD for the crazy lunatic who almost blew up all of Manhattan. Do not fucking tell me that you feel BAD for the man who took over my mind and threatened to kill you. Don't fucking say that, Natasha!" Clint yelled.

"My brother is _not _a lunatic!" Thor insisted, slamming his fist on the kitchen table.

"This is even better than daytime soap operas," Tony said.

"You watch soap operas?" Steve asked.

"Shh, you're interrupting the show," Tony whispered.

"Okay, I won't say that I feel bad for him," Natasha said, hanging her head.

"Wha-" Tony whispered.

"Good," said Clint, crossing his arms.

"But I will say I feel sorry for him," Natasha said, smirking.

Clint's eyes widened in fury.

Tony's laughter broke the awkward silence. "This is soo going on Facebook."

Natasha walked over to Tony, snatched the phone out of his hands, and propelled it through the open window above the kitchen sink. They all watched it fall.

"I don't think you can fix that," Steve said, pointing out the obvious.

"No shit, Sherlock," Tony said, and shrugged. He was a bit disappointed that he lost the hilarious Clint/Natasha fight, but oh well. He was positive there would be more to come.

Natasha leaned forward and grabbed the plate of waffles. She then sauntered out of the kitchen without a word.

"Is it just me who thinks this," said Tony, "but is Natasha not really a morning person?

* * *

Natasha ate in her room. After devouring more than half the stack of waffles, she received a message on her comlink.

"Hello?" she said.

A tiny hologram figure of Fury appeared.

"Hello, Miss. Natasha Romanoff," he said.

"What's up, Fury?"

"I wanted to speak to you about Loki."

Natasha scratched the side of her neck. "You've got the wrong person."

"I thought you and Loki were buddies," Fury said sarcastically.

"Very funny," she said. "What's the real deal?"

"I get that you have been spending some quality time with uh Mr. Fucks everything up."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"It was _one _training session. I don't get why everyone is all up on my ass."

Fury continued, "I am this close to kicking Loki's ass out of Earth."

"I don't know if you can do that…"

"Want to test me?"

"Fury, how is this my problem? Speak with Thor."

"Thor said you agreed to chaperone Loki."

Natasha's eyes popped wide open. "I _never _said that."

Oh, she was going to _kill _Thor.

"Well, anyway, you know that Paris mission you got this Friday?"

Natasha froze. "Yeah, I remember." _Where is Fury going with this? _

"Bring him with you," Fury said.

"You're shitting me right now," Natasha snapped.

"Miss. Romanoff, I suggest that you do it. I want to see if Loki can be trusted."

Natasha, now angry, shut off the hologram, cutting off Fury's speech. It was probably not the wisest thing to do, but at this moment she was so furious, it didn't even matter.

* * *

Loki slouched in one of the chairs in the Stark library, discarding any regal form. He was utterly, insanely bored. In Asgard, there were always lavish parties, the royal woods, the horses and plenty of hunting gear. The market places were always buzzing with activities, and contained a plethora of exotic spices and mouth-watering food.

There was nothing in the Stark Tower that pleased him.

He heard the door of the library slam open.

"BROTHER!"

Loki felt his eyes smart. The last thing he wanted to see was his idiotic fool of a man who pretended to be related to him.

Thor appeared in front of Loki, as big and bulky as ever. Loki's face rested in the crook between his index finger and thumb, and his eyes reluctantly darted up to meet Thor's eyes.

"I have come to speak with you."

Loki did not understand why he bothered. He did not want to talk to Thor at all. He hoped that if he was mute, Thor would get the hint and go away.

However, Thor did not get the chance to say anything else, because someone else entered the room.

"THOR!" a loud voice yelled.

Thor turned around, bewildered.

At that moment, Natasha Romanova appeared, looking like Hell's fury.

Loki smirked. Oh, how the little spider was angry. He _loved _conflict. After all, it's part of who he is.

"Explain to me this," Natasha said.

She opened up a latch on a weird metal device attached to her wrist. A hologram recording popped up.

Ahh, it was Fury. Loki recognized him as the man with one eye who interrogated him in the cage. Fury never did bring him that magazine.

"_Thor said you agreed to chaperone Loki." _

Loki bolted upright then, fully aware. He looked at Thor, then at Natasha. "What. Is. The MEANING OF THIS?"

"Brother, calm down," Thor said, his face reddening.

"I am NOT your brother, you unwashed miscreant."

Natasha glanced at Loki, then back at Thor. "Why would you tell Fury this? I am NOT Loki's babysitter."

"Well-" began Thor, but Natasha cut him off.

"Fury told me I have to go with Loki to Paris on Friday. That is not going to happen." And with that, Natasha spun on her heel and strode out of the room.

* * *

Unfortunately for everyone, (well, mainly Natasha), Loki ended up going with Natasha to Paris. Before the dreaded Friday, they had a bit of packing to do. It took Natasha a very short amount of time to pack. But with Loki, he appeared to be almost brain dead in terms of what to bring. For starters, the only clothes he wore were his Asgardian ones. He did have a suit, but it was all torn up and bloody. While Loki did not pay attention to Tony Stark's jabs at his clothing choices ( "I didn't realize the Renaissance convention came this early"), Natasha did not want people to really recognize Loki. The last thing she needed was attention drawn to them.

So, on Wednesday, she borrowed one of Tony's cars ("If you get a single scratch on her, I'll kill you"), and set off with Loki.

He sat shotgun, but the whole affair was incredibly awkward. Loki sat slouched, his arms crossed, and the right side of his forehead pressed against the window.

Natasha was a fast driver, and with every speed bump she encountered, Loki would snap, "I would prefer to arrive there in one piece."

She turned on the radio, but Loki turned it off right away, glaring at her.

"You're no fun," she commented.

He shrugged.

When they finally reached the shopping area, people looked at him a bit funny. He was dressed like he was going to some high-class business party. His hair was also slicked back in his usual style. It also didn't help that he gave everyone the look of death who came his way.

"You could try to not look like a…oh, I don't know…serial killer?" Natasha hissed into his ear.

Loki smirked, and leaned his face very close to hers. His nose touched the tip of hers, and she involuntarily blushed.

"You should be lucky that I have not acted on any of my urges," he crooned, his eyes narrowed.

"Do you have to stand so close to me?" she responded, her voice dimmed.

"It's hilarious to see you blush the way you do," he smirked.

Natasha rolled her eyes, and backed away. He walked next to her, and she glanced at him, noting how sharp his jawline was, and how prominent cheekbones were. Has he been eating? Natasha assumed he wasn't. He'd always been lean. It was probably some inner rebellion of his that he was trying to act out. But hey, he basically ran away from home, trashed Manhattan, struck deals with the devil…

You would think he'd have gotten it out of his system by now.

She promised herself that she'd take him to get some food after shopping. She suddenly saw a clothing store that had mannequins on the front. One was dressed in a polo and khakis, the others in a suit.

It seemed normal enough.

"Loki, let's go in here."

He looked at the store, taking every detail in.

"Loki, it's a clothing store, not an art exhibit. Let's go."

He followed her in the store, wrinkling his nose in distaste at some of the vulgar Midgardian fashions. One shirt had a tiger on it, and he pinched it with two fingers. It appeared to be made out of cheap fabric, nothing like the exotic materials of Asgard.

"Loki, come with me," Natasha said, beckoning him over. He stood still, refusing to obey her order. But she walked over to him, and said, "Look. I know you don't want to be here with me. And trust me, I don't want to be here with you. But here I am, doing you a favor. So let's quickly get this done, and leave. Okay?"

"You make a valid point," he responded, and followed her to the back of the store.

There he looked at some of the suits, and appeared to take a liking to them.

He tried them on, and looked at himself in a full length mirror. The dark emerald tie contrasted sharply with his pale throat, and the dark sleeves on the suit settled against his shoulders nicely.

"Very dapper," said Natasha.

He smirked. "Why do most mortal men insist on wearing more atrocious things, rather than elegant wear?"

"Have you ever tried jogging in a suit?" Natasha said, raising an eyebrow.

They spent a little more time picking normal clothes. It took Natasha a little while to get him to agree to purchase jeans, and normal t-shirts, but he eventually agreed. They bought him a new pair of dress shoes, and sneakers.

As they were standing in line at the shoe store, Loki asked Natasha, "Isn't this all incredibly expensive? Who's paying for this?"

"Well, Fury said I should take care of it. So I did."

"You spent over…" Loki plucked a receipt from one of the many shopping bags. "Three hundred dollars. I gather that's a lot in Midgardian currency. It does not seem like a very worthy cause to spend money on someone who dreams of killing you with his bare hands."

Natasha pulled an Amex card out of her pocket. "I said I took care of it. I never said who's paying for it. I'll have to thank Tony later."

Before they left, Natasha insisted on giving Tony Stark a hug. He was a bit bewildered, as Natasha wasn't exactly the cuddly type, but he let her anyway. Her hand slipped to his back pocket, clipped the card in between two fingers, and went off.

"You little demon," Loki chuckled.

Natasha shrugged. "I do what I have to do."

She noticed two girls standing a slight distance in the line from Loki, clearly swooning. One had her phone out, trying non discreetly to take a picture of him.

Oh, _please. _

Yes, he may have been extremely good looking. Natasha did attest to that. But, he was rude, and cruel, and had done inhumane things. But then again, Natasha did remind herself that his so called "cruelty" could be just a front to guard his pain, and he wasn't human anyways. But didn't Asgardians feel the way humans do? Thor was very human. Well, not physically, obviously. But he invested a lot in emotions, and had a very sympathetic heart. He cared so much for his brother, he was willing to put the whole team's energy-and sanity- at stake.

Natasha shook her head slightly. Unfortunately, she was burdened with the task of trying to dig all these pent up feelings from him. She'd gone through years of training, she learned how to build walls around her mind, and crash others. Now, she found her match.

She constantly reminded herself that she didn't _have _to take care of Loki like that. But something told her she did. Maybe it would erase some of the red in her ledger. Maybe it could soothe the wounds her sins had inflicted.

Maybe…

"Natasha? NATASHA!" Loki snapped. She blinked, and realized through all her daydreaming, she was next in line. The cashier looked extremely annoyed, while Loki had a bemused expression on his face.

* * *

After that humorous incident, Loki and Natasha went to go eat at some place that advertised an odd food called 'pizza.'

"I have never heard of this…pizza," Loki stated, glaring at Natasha. Was the woman trying to poison him?

"It's good, I promise. And Loki, if you think I'm going to tamper with your food…well, you're wrong. The wrath of Thor can be frightening."

Loki smirked. She always seemed to know what he was thinking. He never was squeamish in turns of trying new food, and after all, everyone had reacted strangely when he said his favorite dish was _Hakarl _dipped in golden honey.

_Hakarl _was simply fermented shark. He did not understand why the Avengers considered such a delicacy to be disgusting, while other mortals stuffed their faces with fat, and filled up like the blow up balloons he had at his sixth birthday party.

So, they sat at this low-key joint, awkwardly. Natasha fiddled with a straw wrapper, and Loki started at the table intently, as though it was whispering some kind of message.

Loki glanced at Natasha quickly, then went back to studying the wood countertop. He didn't know what to make of her. She did not berate him like the others did, but at the same time, did not account for any act of rudeness. She was a confusing mortal. So many mortal women were weak and spineless, but she had a streak to her, that was a boiling combination of perseverance, strength, and pain. After all, he remembered what Clint Barton had said to him. The fire. The exchange she had made. The price she paid for her sister.

Oh, he could dangle this all over Natasha's pretty little head.

But, he did once. And that resulted in a failure.

He took a new approach.

"Thank you…for taking me here," he said, slowly and carefully.

Natasha's head shot up, and she processed what he had just said. "You said thank you."

An indent appeared between Loki's eyebrows. "I did, yes. Why does that surprise you?"

Natasha snorted, and said, "You've distributed some homicidal tendencies throughout your little visit."

Loki laughed, and said, "I happen to be in a better mood, thinking about the fact that I have the opportunity to leave this abysmal country. Europe is astounding."

"I don't think Europe thinks the same thing about you," chuckled Natasha. "You did try to subjugate that German town."

Loki smirked. "I almost did. You made me cringe with fear when you said to 'drop the scepter.'"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Necessities. You killed eighty people in two days."

Loki's expression faltered slightly, and he stared at Natasha, whose eyes had adopted a hardened look.

"I know."

"Of course you know."

There was another awkward silence, but their food came, which luckily broke through it.

Loki stared at the pizza as though it had suddenly grown horns and said its name was Larry.

Natasha laughed. "Just try one bite. If you don't like it, we won't go back."

Loki gingerly picked up the piece of pizza, as though it was a fragile vase. The greasy concoction smeared on his fingertips, and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I feel like I'm trying to get a five year old to eat. C'mon, just eat already," Natasha said, rolling her eyes once more.

Loki took a small bite, which made Natasha laugh.

He chewed quietly and thoroughly, and then finished the slice in two bites.

"See?" said Natasha, grinning. "Told ya."

* * *

On the morning of their flight, Loki woke up early, due to the alarm Tony installed in his room. He packed quickly, stuffing all of his new clothes into his suitcase, and greeted Natasha in the lobby. Luckily the others were still sleeping, so they could escape their disparaging comments.

Tony's chauffeur picked them up, and they started their drive to the airport.

"Ready to go?" Natasha asked, yawning.

"More than ever," Loki said sarcastically, with secret delight on the inside.

**Author's note:**

**Phew! Another chapter down. Sorry the update was a little slow. I have just started school, but I'll try to update as much as I can. The next chapter will focus on Loki's and Natasha's Paris adventure.**

**I can't wait to write this! Ahhhh. I have a lot of dialogue in this chapter, so I hope you don't mind!**

**Anyways, as usual, thank you to the followers of this story, and the people who favorited it. I hope you're having as much fun with this story as I am.**

**And a big thank you to Akira Muratake. I have the unfortunate habit of doing that, so thanks for pointing that out!**

**By the way, I'm starting another Loki fanfiction sometime next week , except that it will be a lot different than this one. So, be prepared for that. I hope you'll like that one too. **

**Anyways, see you until next time. Reviews are much appreciated!**

**Love you all : )**


	6. Don't stop me now

_Are you a king?_

Loki shuddered at the question, his hands gripping the sides of his face. For it was no one specific who asked this question, but himself. This inquiry had been pulling at the hard edges of his mind for quite a long time, since he had been trapped here, in the Asgardian prison. Almost no one had visited him. Occasionally Thor came to visit him, but it was entirely futile, as Loki refused to speak. He eavesdropped on the guards when they thought he was asleep, and he heard an interesting tidbit that Odin forbid Frigga from seeing him, as Loki's present condition might disturb her greatly. When Loki had arrived at the palace straight from Midgard, he had expected the usual traitor's punishment: Getting his mouth sewn shut, and then left to die at the Northern Cave, a place where the traitor was bound to a rock, forced to watch the ocean rise higher and higher until one day, it swallowed them whole. And you could only scream in your mind, where those cries are the loudest.

At this point, Loki had almost desired this.

_You will long for something as sweet as pain. _

But when he arrived, he was not brought to court. He was tugged into Odin's private quarters by Thor, and told to take a seat upon an embroidered chair.

"Loki," Odin said, his face etched with the lines of sorrow, and his voice laced with the sharpness of conviction.

Loki's muzzle was fastened, as Odin had ordered the guards to do. He did not want any interruptions on Loki's part.

Loki was thin, thinner than he had ever been. He had always been lithe compared to his burly brother, and so, without his usual food intake, he looked frail. The wind itself could blow him over.

Loki refused to eat his meals, refused to wash, refused to do anything but lie against the wall and glare at the guards that stood outside his prison cell.

"I understand that you must be hurt. But, you are my son. Loki, you have committed evils beyond what I could have ever estimated. For that, you must learn your lesson."

Loki's eyes flashed menacingly.

"I take your magic," Odin said, and raised his hand.

Loki squirmed, his screams lost in the muzzle.

A soft, silvery vapor broke through Loki's body and wafted over to Odin's hand, where it suddenly collapsed into nothing.

"I take your immortality."

"I take your status."

Loki was now fighting Thor's grip, kicking, his arms begging to be loose.

"Brother," Thor whispered. "Please."

"You are no king, Loki," Odin said, watching his adopted son with watery eyes.

"You are no man."

Loki's eyes, full of tears, met the eyes of the man who claimed to be his father.

Odin said, "You're merely a boy."

* * *

Loki's eyes flashed open, to reveal the interior of an aircraft carrier. He then realized that he was just replaying the memory of what had occurred before his departure to Midgard. He wiped sweat from his brow, and focused on breathing normally.

By the gods.

Why did he have to have such unpleasant dreams all the time? For once, he just wanted to have a normal dream, one that didn't include his fake family or Thanos. He just wanted to sleep peacefully again.

"Ah, you're awake," Natasha said, turning her head to see Loki. She was flyingg the plane, and seemed to know what she was doing, much to Loki's relief.

"How long was I out for?" he asked.

"Oh, just four hours," she said, smirking. "Guess someone really needed their beauty sleep."

"Do not make fun. If you were in my position, you would take a nap as well." He crossed his arms and glared at her, like an insulted child.

"Thinking of you operating a plane makes me laugh," Natasha said, gripping the wheel tighter.

"Good thing I am not, then," he said, and rolled his eyes.

She then switched to autopilot and climbed in the back. There were plush chairs set up against the airplane windows, and had dining tables that appeared out of the floor, that were activated by a push of a button on a remote. There plenty of space to move about on the aircraft, compliments of a Mr. Tony Stark.

She sat across from Loki, who seemed upset that his personal space had been violated. At that moment, a flight attendant appeared, balancing a tray on one hand that held a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

"Champagne, miss?"

"Yes, please," Natasha said.

"Anything to eat?" the flight attendant asked.

"You have a menu?"

The woman gave Natasha the menu, and then set off.

"You know, it's pretty sweet that I get to fly Tony's plane," Natasha said, tipping the bottle of alcohol into a flute.

"I don't mind it. It's very solitary, apart from the whores that wander this place, offering drink and food," Loki said, pouring champagne into his glass.

Natasha choked on her beverage, her eyes shooting up to meet Loki's. "They're not whores. They're flight attendants."

"Is that what you call them here?" Loki said, his eyes twinkling.

"Okay," Natasha said, rolling her eyes, "They do dress in a…well…provocative manner, you know, especially cause they work for Stark and his friends. But I'm fine with that. Most people I encounter are a threat to my life, so anyone benign, whether it be flight attendant or bell boy, appeals to me."

Loki raised an eyebrow, and said, "Am I a threat to your life?"

"Well," Natasha said, and thought it through for a minute before saying, "You could be. But, you don't have your powers. You're just some dude who claims that he could hurt me, but many of my prior victims have said that before I beat the living shit out of them."

"Interesting," Loki said. With his elbows on the table, he leaned his head in a bit and said, "But, one day, you will be scared."

"Let me know, I'll mark it on my calendar," Natasha said dryly.

They finally did look at the menu, which was the crème of the crop of exquisite food.

"Caviar," Natasha said, noticing it stated on the menu in bold letters. "I love caviar." Back in Russia, her family used to have it for breakfast. They would smear butter on bread, and then place caviar on top of it. It was beyond delicious, but very expensive in the U.S.

"Fish eggs, right?" Loki asked, scanning the menu. "Why is it that everything says 'Mr. Stark's caviar, and Mr. Stark's hamburger, and all this nonsense?"

"Cause he's a narcissistic bastard," Natasha said calmly, and continued looking at the menu.

"Oh, by the way," Natasha said, "We're going to need alter egos. I'm Amy, and you're Pierre."

"Pierre? What sort of blasphemy is that?"

"Well, you can't exactly go around as Loki, can you?"

The flight attendant appeared at that moment, cutting off any chance for Loki to retort. They both filled their orders. Natasha got her caviar and French bread. Loki got filet mignon, cooked rare, and complete with asparagus.

"I've had it before," Loki explained. "Quite delicious, if I may say so myself."

"Huh. You like all that fancy shit," Natasha said, smiling to herself. "No wonder why you sneer at pizza and wear a suit 24/7."

Loki shrugged and said, "Appearance matters. I am a god, and I shall dress like one."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

After dining, and several glasses of champagne, Natasha went back to flying the plane. Dusk had broken over, and the sunset was beautiful. Violet stripes ran through the orange horizon, reminding Loki (just a little bit) of the pulchritude of Asgard's sunsets.

The rest of the flight was relatively calm, save for some turbulence at the end. Finally, they landed on the runway, and gathered their suitcases. As they descended the stairs, Loki and Natasha noticed a black limo parked outside, with the chauffeur leaning against the car.

They approached the limo, threw their bags in the trunk, and hopped inside. The leather seats smelled new, and there were more bottles of champagne readily available. However, both were too tired to move, really, so they sank into their seats, and peered out of the tinted windows.

As they rode into the depths of Paris, Loki's eyes were wide open. The buildings' architectural structure was astounding. The white marble and beige bricks were fastened in such a beautiful way; it looked as if each building took a decade to complete, and was carefully done by an artist's slender hands. The roads were impeccable, with no sign of garbage, or any other human atrocities. Lampposts dotted the sidewalk, and their golden light bathed everything in a pleasant glow. Everyone was dressed very nicely too, he noted. The women walked in their high heels with expertise, and the men looked well put together in their suits. He noticed the cafes, with the round outdoor tables, and rolled his window down. Pleasant smells wafted through the limo. People perched outside, laughing, a cigarette in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. They passed a pagoda of easels, with artists intently tracing their figurines with charcoal, and eager recipients smearing nutella on crepes during their wait.

"So, Loki, what do you think?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

He did not reply, but continued staring at the beauty of the ancient city.

She smirked.

They arrived at their hotel, which looked like an artist's haven as well. Pictures of French royalty dotted the walls, and oriental carpets graced the floor. After traveling up the elevator, they crashed at their room. A glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the carpet was plush. A large bed was propped up against the wall, with fluffy pillows, and silken sheets. Natasha immediately plopped down on it, her red hair contrasting sharply with the ivory colour of the pillows.

Loki took his time to look around, and opened a door in the hotel. It simply led to another bathroom.

He then realized, with a muted horror, that there was only one bed.

"Natasha," he said, his voice rising slightly.

"Mm hmm?" she muttered, her voice muffled.

"There's only one bed."

"Yeah, I know."

Loki turned and looked at her, incredulously. She had not stirred from the bed at all, had not declared this to be an act of insanity. No, she did not even look remotely surprised.

"What do you mean by _that?" _he cried.

"You're sleeping on the floor," Natasha said simply. "Because I'm taking the bed for myself."

"Oh, no you are not, I assure you," Loki said, stepping forward. There was no way that royalty like him would sleep on the floor like some household pet.

"Oh, really?" Natasha asked, and sat up. Her red curls poked every which way, making her look like a child.

Loki laughed, loving her state of physical distress. "Your hair…it amuses me," he smirked.

Natasha ruffled her hair with one hand. "Yours doesn't look so hot, either," she said. Ignoring his mock-insulted face, she said, "Anyway, I have a preposition." She flipped onto her stomach, and perched her chin on her two hands.

Loki sat on one of the chairs in the room, and grinned. Finally, someone dared to challenge him. "I would love to hear it."

"I am going to shower and change. I think you should too, by the way. And after we're all cleaned up, we'll head out on the streets. You have to do any request I make without any complaints.

Loki leaned his head to the side a bit, and looked at her. "That does not sound difficult at all."

"Maybe for now," she said, and laughed. "Don't you have a preposition for me?"

"Yes, of course," Loki said. "You'll find out in dual time."

* * *

After getting dressed and ready, they headed out on the streets. It was now evening in the city, and the lights shone brightly overhead. A couple walking on the cobbled street in front of them suddenly wandered over to a nearby lamp post. The man buried his hands in the woman's hair, and kissed her deeply, as she leaned against the lamp post, and returned the kiss with pure passion, wrapping her hands around his waist.

"That is vulgar," Loki said, glaring at the couple.

"Get used to it," Natasha said, appraising the couple making out. "It's called the City of Love for a reason, especially at night time."

He looked at her in disbelief. "How does this not make you want to vomit?"

She laughed. "Well, I've been to Paris many times. I've gotten used to it."

"And the smoke," Loki said, coughing, referring to the incessant cigarette smoking.

"Oh, you'll get used to that too soon enough," Natasha said. "Everyone smokes, everywhere. But you begin to not pay attention to it soon enough."

"Right."

They walked close to each other, and drank up the delights of the city like a delicious cocktail. They approached a little area where some artists were hard at work. There were two carts that sold crepes, but they were closed, as it was late.

"Loki, come get your picture drawn," Natasha said, the moonlight glinting off her eyes.

Loki was about to resist, but he remembered her preposition.

He would _not _sleep on the floor, and he _always _won in games like this. Soon enough, the mortal woman would realize that her little game was a fuse.

"I would absolutely love to," Loki said, lying through his teeth. He grinned at Natasha, who raised an eyebrow, and smiled back. "Very well, then."

They approached a female artist, who was taking a smoke break.

"Bonjour," said Natasha. " J'aimerais que vous nous dessiniez, s'il-vous-plait. Si ce n'est pas un problème, évidemment." (1)

The artist stubbed out her cigarette, and grinned at the couple. "Oh non, pas de problème du tout! Qu'est-ce que vous aimeriez? Je peux faire n'importe quoi. Je suis si heureuse de voir deux magnifiques jeunes gens en amour!" (2)

Natasha's face turned the same color of her hair.

Loki noticed this, and said, "What, what did she ask?"

Suddenly, Natasha got an idea in her head. One that would be sickly if it were true, and one that would piss Loki off for sure, which is why she decided to do it.

" Merci. J'aimerais un dessin de moi et de mon petit ami, s'il-vous-plait."" Natasha said, grinning. Loki looked completely lost, but his facial expression indicated that he suspected some clandestine exchange between the two. Natasha looked deliciously devious, and the artist was talking animatedly, waving her hands at both of them. (3)

"Rapprochez-vous, ma chère. Passer votre bras autour de lui ou bien prenez lui la main, ce sera joli. " (4)

"Natasha, can you please tell me what the hell she's saying?" Loki hissed, into her ear.

"She thinks we're a couple," Natasha said, and almost burst into laughter at Loki's disgusted expression. "And I went along with it."

"Why would you ever do that?" Loki asked, incredulously.

"Des amoureux qui se disputent? Quel dommage." the artist said, shaking her head. (5)

Natasha wiped tears from her eyes, trying to maintain composure.

"Non, non. Il plaisante." she stated. "Look, you're losing drastically," Natasha gasped, placing her hand on her heaving ribcage. "She said to put your arm around me or hold my hand. Take your pick." (6)

Loki sighed, and then placed his arm around Natasha's shoulders. She rested her head on his shoulder, and felt the muscle tighten. "Loosen up," she said. "I don't bite."

He actually relaxed at that moment, and exhaled.

The artist picked up a piece of charcoal from a paper cup, and placed a fresh piece of paper to her easel. She occasionally looked at them, then went back to her paper. A line appeared in the middle of her eyebrows as she intently worked.

"It's fascinating, how much passion they pour into their artwork," Loki murmured, staring.

"So, not all mortals are that bad, huh?" Natasha said, looking up to find the sharp edges of his jaw.

"That's not what I am saying."

"Sure," she said, and smirked.

After long pauses, and several remarks by the artist, the portrait was done. Looking at it, Loki realized that he and Natasha appeared to be lovers. Which would be insulting on its own, but he was too swept away by the artist's talent. In the portrait, Natasha's head barely touched his shoulder, and his hand gripped her arm tightly. The most embarrassing of all was the fact that at one point, he must have looked down at Natasha, because the artist drew him as gazing into her eyes. They looked like love-sick fools.

Natasha paid the artist, thanked her, and then placed it in her handbag.

As they walked off, Natasha said, "See? That wasn't too bad."

"No," agreed Loki. "Although being so close in proximity to you was nauseating, I could stand it for a brief momentum. You know what would be quite interesting to see?"

"What?"

"How Clint Barton will react when he sees the picture."

Natasha rolled her eyes. She understood partly why Loki might think she and Clint were more than platonic, but she knew for a fact that they weren't. _Unless…_

Clint had told him, during that unfortunate time when he was brainwashed. That did explain how Loki knew about the hospital fire. And she and Clint…well…let's just say, they _did _have a past. But that's exactly what it was: the past. She didn't think of it all, but Loki seemed bent on bringing it up. He loved to mess with people, and disrupt relations and friendships.

Natasha shook her head, trying to wash away these thoughts, and focus on Paris. Today was a leisure day, as they had just arrived. But tomorrow was the actual mission, which she would explain to Loki soon.

"You know…" she said, looking up at him, "You never gave me any dares."

"I am well aware of that," Loki said, "But the evening is not over just yet."

_Translations: 1) Hello, we would like to have our pictures done, please. If it's not too much trouble. 2) Oh, it's no problem at all. What would you like? I can do anything. It makes me happy to see two such beautiful people in love. 3) Thank you. I would like a picture of me and my boyfriend, please. 4) Get closer, my dear. Put your arm around him, or take his hand, so it will be sweet. 4) Lovers' quarrel? What a shame. 6) No, no, he's just being funny._

* * *

Loki sipped his glass of wine as he looked out the large glass window on his right. He was, well, impressed by the city, and all it had to offer. The people were classy, the buildings were astounding, the food was phenomenal…he could go on and on. Obviously, Paris fell short compared to Asgard, but for now, he was content with this small substitute.

Thinking back on the little picture fiasco, he realized that Natasha wanted to do the portrait to make him feel awkward, so he would easily lose. It was the only word to describe that situation: awkward. To pretend like he was her…oh, what was that mortal word?

Boyfriend.

_Well done, little spider. But two can play at this game._

Loki and Natasha sat inside a bustling café, which smelled pleasantly of espresso, and had a friendly, open aura. While he enjoyed his glass of French wine, and a croissant, she was slicing a pink colored substance with a fork and knife that looked like raw meat, but was actually a ham spread called 'pâté.'

He decided right there, that he rather enjoyed the way her face glowed red when she became slightly embarrassed, or nervous. And from that point on, whatever preposition he was going to make for her had to do just that.

In the café, happened to be a small stage, where there was a lone singer, crooning about 'l'amour' into the microphone. Then she finished her song, and was replaced by a tall man with a silvery mustache.

'Bonjour tout le monde! Tonight, as you remember, is Twist Thursday!" the man finished in English, and raised his fist in the air. Applause broke out, and Loki noticed people hum with excitement, leaning forward in their chairs.

The man suddenly disappeared behind the curtains, but then came back out, holding a small trophy. "The couple with the best dance moves shall be awarded this la belle trophy, compliments of _Thibidoux Café! _So, any volunteers? Who will be the first to play in our contest tonight?"

Loki suddenly knew exactly what he was going to do. He raised his hand, and stood up at the same time, all 6'2" of him.

"What are you doing?!" hissed Natasha, who was about to take a mouthful of food in.

"It's my preposition," Loki said, and winked.

"Ahh! The first volunteers of the night!" the man yelled.

Loki suddenly grabbed Natasha's hand, and his fingers intertwined with hers.

"Remember," he whispered into her ear, "Any complaints…I get the bed."

"Oh," chuckled Natasha, "That's not going to happen."

They strode up three black stairs that led to the stage, and then walked along the flat surface, until they approached the man with the microphone.

"Ahh, young love," The man said, grinning broadly at them.

Loki had to resist the urge to wrap his hands around the man's neck and squeeze. How come everyone in this blasted city assumed right away that he and Natasha were lovers? However, since he noticed that outrageous display of affection earlier on the streets, he should not be too surprised.

"Your names?" the man asked, and leaned the mike towards them. "I'm Amy," said Natasha, and handed the microphone to Loki.

"And I'm Pierre," he said.

After the short introduction, the man left the stage, throwing in a wink back at the couple as he did so.

Loki peered into Natasha's eyes, which he noticed were the color of absinthe. "Be prepared to sleep on the floor tonight," he whispered.

Natasha looked out into the crowd, noticing the way peoples' attention wafted over to them, and then fixated her gaze back on Loki. "Not a chance." She brought her face up to Loki's, and watched with pleasure, as his eyes widened. "I happen to be an expert at 'the twist.'"

Loud music started to play, and it was soothing and melodic, but filled with the vibrancy of saxophones at the same time.

Natasha twisted her body, literally, from side to side, and relaxed her hands, which swayed from side to side. She rotated her right foot on the floor like she was trying to smother a cigarette, and then spun around. Loki brought his arms out front, and then shook his hands as though he were playing the maracas. Natasha almost broke her serious composure, but at the last minute, retained it. She brought her body close to his, so that the tips of her elbows touched his, and she shook her head from side to side, red hair flaying everywhere. He appeared to get the hang of it, as he moved the balls of his feet from side to side, and then tipped his head back. As he leaned forward, wild tendrils of black hair came loose, and a grin split his face into two.

So, Loki _did _know how to have fun.

"You. Can't. Win. This.", Natasha said, panting.

"Oh, really," Loki said, raising an eyebrow. He then pulled Natasha in close, one hand firmly positioned at the middle of her back, and his other hand grabbing hers. "Tell me now, who will be the victor," he said, grinning.

She grabbed his hand back, with more force, and then proceeded to strut forward, combining the elements of the twist with the tango. The crowd roared, and egged them on, as Loki spun her around, and then caught her. Her hand was momentarily trapped between her chest and his chest, but she released it. She wrapped both arms around his neck, and he lifted her up, high enough that her feet flew off the ground, and she crossed them together.

He then bent forward, very low to the ground, as her head snapped back, and her eyes shut.

The music was truncated, and they stood up, Natasha's hand still clasped in Loki's. They did a deep bow, and were greeted by great applause from the audience.

One more couple went after them, but they did not have nearly half the charisma and intensity of Natasha and Loki's dance, and so, the grand prize winners were Natasha and Loki.

They stumbled home, then, exhilarated from the alcohol, and the dancing. Natasha clung on to Loki's forearm as she laughed while he recounted the stumbling moves of the couple that came after them.

"Oh, oh God, that was fun," she said, and beamed at him.

"It was allright."

"Oh, shut up!" Natasha cried, and prodded his ribcage. "You had a fantastic time."

"Allright, you're correct, I did," he admitted, and clutched their trophy tighter.

"I'm glad, honestly," she said. "I know you've been having a difficult time here."

Loki became a bit turned off at her sentimentality, but knew that she was trying to be sincere.

"I thank you for that. I was pleasantly surprised. Turns out, mortals do know how to have a good time," he said, remembering the dance.

"So, you liked the dance?" Natasha asked, the moonlight gleaming wickedly off her irises.

"I happened to, yes," Loki said.

"Dance with me back to our room," Natasha said, looking up at him mischievously.

Loki looked around. It was late, but several people still graced the streets. Oh, what did he care what they thought?

"Right on, let's do it," he said, with solid determination in his tone.

"Oh?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't think you'd take me up on the offer."

"Well, I just did," he said, smirking. He then grabbed her hand, and they spun together on the streets, going from the fast pace of tango to the silly vibrancy of the twist, and then to the emotional slow dance, which made them break out into laughter as they did it.

They eventually approached the hotel, where they were both laughing. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the fact that Loki felt good, so good, because he did not remember the last time he laughed out of pure amusement.

The hotel was surrounded by a fence, and Natasha challenged Loki to hoist her up over it. Surprisingly, he did, gently, so as not to impale her on the black spikes. He then swung himself over, hitting the ground with a thud.

"Loki!" Natasha gasped, her side heaving from laughter. He looked so ridiculous, his bottom on the ground, and his legs splayed out. He got up, and he was shaking from laughter too. "By the gods, I think I've had too much to drink," he said, wiping tears from his eyes.

When they reached the hotel room, both of them collapsed on the bed due to pure exhaustion, and before either of them could mention the preposition, or the heated debate, or even what their mission was the next day, they had both fallen fast asleep.

It was after all, midnight in Paris.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Phew. Well, there we go. I just watched Pulp Fiction three days ago, and have become completely obsessed with it. Have any of you guys watched it? Do it, it's awesome. Anyways, Loki and Natasha's dance scene was modeled after Mia Wallace and Vincent Vega's dance scene, with the 'twist' and the contest and everything. I thought Loki might be a bit loosened up , and would be willing to engage in acts of fun. After all, the guy (literally) went through hell.**

**Their actual mission will be documented in the next chapter.**

**Oh, a big thank you to Gab. Anonymous for helping me with the French. You're awesome.**

**By the way, the couple kissing on the street is realistic. I've been to Paris, and I've seen things like that happen. It's all incredibly sweet.**

**Thank you to my followers, and the people who favorited this story. As always, thank you to the people who reviewed this story, you're amazing.**

**Love you all!**

**xo :) **


	7. Loser in the End

For the first time in a long time, Natasha Romanoff had a dreamless sleep. She opened her eyelids slowly, to reveal a pale face, dark eyelashes, and long, swoopy hair which was knotted into a ferocious tangle.

Natasha jumped about five feet off the bed, and screamed so loud she woke the residents staying in the room below them. Her piercing shriek ruptured through Loki's ears, who awoke immediately, to find Natasha standing, looking at him like he had just grown wings. Her chest was heaving, and her eyes held the frozen expression of disbelief.

" Holy. Shit."

Loki realized that he and Natasha had slept in the same bed together. He could scarcely remember last night…his pounding headache was preventing any sort of recollection.

"You…you tricked me!" Natasha said, glaring at him.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Please refrain from using your mortal theatrics. I did not trick you. Do you really think I would be all right with you sharing my bed? It is rather repulsive."

Natasha didn't say a word.

"And besides…" Loki said, raising an eyebrow, "A woman's yell is the worst thing to wake up to."

"Waking up next to a guy who dreams of killing you isn't exactly the best good morning either," Natasha pointed out.

Loki shrugged, and then walked over to the curtain, opening it just a crack. The sunlight coursed through his eyes too fast, and too bright, and he immediately shut it. He rubbed his temples vigorously, shutting his eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's nine thirty. We best get a move on."

* * *

The playful ambience from the night before was totally gone. They dressed and showered quickly, and then made their way quietly down to the hotel dining room quietly. The hotel served breakfast every morning, and it was incredibly scrumptious. Natasha practically inhaled an entire croissant, and drank four cups of coffee. Loki dug into the croissants and jelly. "I think that I may like this better than that strange pizza," he confessed, and then stuffed his mouth with bread.

"At least you like something," Natasha said dryly.

"What exactly are we doing here?" Loki asked, and looked at her expectantly.

Natasha put down the knife she was using to butter her croissant, and looked up at him, then around at the dining table. There was no one in sight, and the doors were closed.

"Tonight at seven, there is a ball, and it's located at the Ritz. A man I once was associated with is going to be there, and he is a skilled con artist named Nikolai. He plans to murder a woman tonight to 'send a message', per se. Shield has been on his radar for _years… _and finally, we have information of his whereabouts."

Loki stared at her for a moment, and then said, "And I am expected to assist you with this endeavor, am I correct?"

"Well, that's why Fury demanded that I bring you. He thought that if you could prove that you're not here to create chaos…then he might slightly be okay with you living with us."

Loki was silent for a while, and focused on stirring cream into his coffee. He had a mixture of emotions simmering under his skin, and he did not know how to deal with them at the present. If he was to prevent a murder, and help Natasha ensnare a person from her past- then what was he, exactly? He knew that Fury was testing him-like he should. And that Thor was probably on board with all of this. He…he _did _want to be….

Good? Was there such thing as entirely, purely good? Thor is considered a hero, but he had done abysmal things, and he did at some point have a supercilious attitude towards everyone. Was anyone actually good? When heroes saved the world, was it because it would make people rain flowers upon them, and build altars? Or was it really for the common good? Did Stark participate in the festivities he did to increase his fame? It seemed highly probable. But according to research he had done, Stark was already famous, and incredibly wealthy. He didn't need to put on his suit to get more. Thor always thought of himself as a hero when they were children- and Loki would chime in and agree. What the blasted Avengers had in mind of a 'hero' was totally different from what Loki thought of a hero. Loki did think he was some heroic persona, and he did not feel like he was doing something wrong, or even evil at the time of the Chitauri attacks on Midgard. He was saving the Earth from the clutches of pathetic, wimpy rulers…isn't that what heroes do? Save the world? He was trying to be a hero back on Asgard, as well. Loki's entire world had deteriorated from the moment he found out he was a frost giant. He felt like someone had pushed him off the highest cliff-and landed on his stomach, knocking the air straight out of his lungs. It was a horrendous feeling, and suddenly, he wanted to be Odin's hero. To show him that even though he was a frost giant, he was worthy of being his son. He wanted to be worthy just like Thor was- and is. And Loki felt that if he warded off the frost giants, who were enemies of the Asgardians, he would gain the respect and trust that he never had. But everything backfired when his idiotic brother came back, and ruined everything. People called Loki a villain after all the atrocities. He did not know what to think of that. Saving peoples' lives- the good, the honest way…was a feat Loki had never attempted before. He wasn't sure if he could do it.

* * *

Natasha unzipped her suitcase, and started to sort out all of the weapons she had brought with her. As she adjusting her ankle sheath, which had gotten loose, she looked around, and realized she didn't see Loki anywhere. "Loki?" she called.

No response. Where the hell did he go? She then noticed a slight breeze float through the room, and saw the curtains at the other end flap. She walked over to the curtains to discover the balcony door was slightly open. Loki sat on a lawn chair on the balcony, and peered out at the Parisian sky. Natasha joined him, and shut the door.

"Loki, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You may be an expert liar, but I can see through this charade."

"Do you think I'm a hero?" he said, faintly. His gaze remained fixated on a single puffy cloud.

"No," answered Natasha honestly. "But I'm not either."

"You are attempting to redeem yourself. Why is that?" Loki asked.

"I was once an assassin. I remember vividly things that I had done. I used to be injected with serum by the Red Room. It was not the kind that Captain America had. It was one that affected the mind. I used to be my own person. I used to fight the resistance. I had a sister once. Her name was Anna. She was very beautiful. I was always jealous of her growing up. But she took care of me. The family we were living with worked with the mafia. One day, I guess I was of age, and ready to train to become one of _them. _ I was trained in how to kill people. I learned how to snap a man's neck with my bare hands. My real skillset however, was my mind. I started to play games with people's heads, Loki. I used to be able to pry the mafia's victims' secrets out of their skulls. I got good. When I started to grow weary of the antics, and feel remorse for my deeds, they gave me the serum. I was brainwashed into thinking I was doing the right thing."

Natasha's eyes were distant, and she was focusing on her worst memory now.

"Anna got confused. They had no use for her, they said. They would place her in different 'expert categories'. She'd return to the house very tired, and usually around midnight. Anna became really depressed, and stopped laughing or smiling. She would never tell me what was wrong. I started to play mind games with her too, because that's the only way I knew to interact with people. I'd yell at her when she wouldn't respond. I never yelled before. But I would just unleash all my anger on her, as if it was her fault. And she'd start to cry, and I would start crying too. They put me back in the hospital because the serum was not giving me a strong effect. They gave me too much, then. I had the effect of someone who underwent a lobotomy. The head doctor came to talk to me that night. They told me Anna was beaten viciously by a man, and was in the hospital as well. I did not react at all. I was completely cut off from my emotions; they were foreign. I-I remember, at that point, it was all a blur. An experiment went very wrong at the hospital, in the basement. They were experimenting on one of the people that didn't cooperate with the mafia. The hospital became enflamed. The serum broke its hold on me- I could think again. I ran to go find my sister, I remember, and she was strapped to her bed. And the flames started-they poured in, I remember, and it was really hot, I- I broke a window in her room, and outside there was a fire escape. I picked her up. She was very light. I made my way onto the escape with her. But then, then the serum came back strong again, I felt like my mind was some voodoo doll, and a voice in my head told me to drop her. The voices got louder and louder in my head, and I was trying to fight it- but it took over me. I-I let go-of her, and she fell so hard. I can always remember her screams. After that, I was on the serum constantly, of my own free will. I didn't know what I was doing, but I secretly did. I thought that killing people would bring me back my sister. I was wrong. People just ended up dead. And when Clint came to kill me- I guess he didn't see a murderer. He saw someone who was gravely hurt. And because of my sister, and because of the killings…

I want to prevent others from making the same mistake. You're not past the point of no return, Loki. No one is, until their soul leaves their body."

Natasha finished with a sharp exhale, and then stared at the ground. She did not cry. She hadn't cried in God knows how long.

Loki glanced over at her, and when he did, his eyes appeared to be full of tears. He then looked away. But when he rested his gaze on her again, they were dry. "I'm…I'm sorry about-"

"Don't," said Natasha. "The past is the past."

* * *

Loki saw Natasha in a different light now. Clint told him that Natasha had killed someone who meant something to her in a hospital fire. He did not know that Natasha had a sister. Loki felt sudden sentiment, and it was an odd feeling for him. He did not like it. As the day went on, he and Natasha went to eat, and walked in the gardens, which were very beautiful. They sat on a fountain's edge and fed the birds nearby. Neither of them mentioned anything Natasha had said that morning. Obviously, Natasha told him this for a reason. Loki hated to admit it, but when Natasha told him how she dropped her sister over the fire escape, he immediately visualized that time he sent the Destroyer to kill his brother. What would have happened if Loki had actually killed Thor?

Loki pushed these thoughts out of his mind as evening settled. Natasha went into the bathroom to change into her dress. He quickly slipped on a nice suit, and then settled onto the couch. He turned on the TV, to find some French reality show. He had absolutely no idea what the hell they were saying, but he figured out some of it. This woman was kissing a man. Another man walked in on them, and started yelling at the woman. Surprisingly, Loki started to snicker. It reminded him of the time where Thor was courting this woman named Celia. They seemed pretty in love , and all of that nonsense, but Loki could see through it. Every time Celia would tell Thor she loved him, her eyes narrowed very slightly, and tips of her tiny ears glowed red. To show his exaggerated love, Thor had granted Celia an apartment in the royal palace. He even bought her a fancy futon, crafted with silks that appeared to have come from Valhalla, when really they came from Alfheim. One morning, Thor decided to surprise Celia with flowers he had selected. He had invited Loki to come with him for some reason. When they got to Celia's apartment, he turned the knob, and walked right in-

To find Fandral on top of Celia, with her legs splayed over the fancy futon from Alfheim.

So that French reality TV show was actually pretty realistic.

Loki heard the bathroom door click open, and turned his head to see Natasha. His jaw almost dropped, and he visibly had to contain his composure. She wore a champagne colored evening gown that clung to her sinuous body in such an appealing, attractive way. The swell of her breasts peeked over the top of her dress, and the fabric glided smoothly over he supple hips. Her hair was in a bun, accentuating the lily pallor of her throat.

Now, don't get him wrong. Loki was in no way attracted to mortal women- well, not mentally at least. But physically, he couldn't help but stare.

Natasha cleared her throat, and Loki snapped back to reality.

"Are you finally ready to depart? By the gods, women spend eternity fixing how they look."

Natasha shrugged. "It's the sine qua non of being a female, Loki." She stuffed her Shield suit in her backpack, and they left.

They took the metro, and then carefully walked to the pagoda that encased the Ritz. Natasha almost tripped over her long dress, and the five inch heels she was wearing weren't exactly helping. Surprisingly, Loki gave her his arm, and told her to hang on.

"We apparently have quite a bit to do tonight," he said, and winked. "It will do to have you delivered in one piece."

She rolled her eyes, but latched on to his arm, which was surprisingly strong.

They crossed the cobbled walkway, went past a statue, and finally arrived at the elegant Ritz. They went straight through the revolving doors, to reveal a beautiful lobby that had cream colored wallpaper and a tiled floor. After showing the receptionist the ball ticket, they walked down a long hallway, and eventually stopped at two glass doors.

Loki's watch had an embedded walkie-talkie and a little tube that when activated, let out a stream of pepper spray. Natasha adjusted it for him, and then subtly ran her hand over her thigh, feeling the slight ride of the gun in its strap.

"Ready?" she asked, looking at Loki.

"More than ever," he said, and grinned.

She pushed open the door with both hands, and scanned the crowd. A man was playing the piano in the corner. A gilded chandelier swung from the painted ceiling, and radiated a wholesome light over the crowd. People were dancing together, and whoever wasn't dancing was tasting the fine French champagne over by the buffet table.

"Loki, come dance with me," Natasha said, and gave him a pointed stare. He understood her logic immediately, and accepted her outstretched hand. As they made their way onto the dance floor, she tilted her head back slightly, and peered over at the people.

"I can't really see too much," she admitted. So, Loki placed his hand on her bare back, and she pressed one of her hands to his hip. Her other hand remained clasped in Loki's. He had this scent, this masculine scent that smelled like soap and the woods- it was refreshing, and delirious. She looked up at him, and he stared down at her, smirking.

_Focus on the mission. _

They circulated the dance floor, like cells in a bloodstream. They swept every crevice and corner, but did not find a trace of Nikolai. "Are you positive he is making an appearance here?" Loki whispered. "What does he look like?"

Natasha whispered back, "He had curly brown hair, and black eyes. Last time I saw him he had a goatee, and he always carried a polka-dot handkerchief in his shirt pocket."

"So far, I do not believe we have seen him," Loki said.

"He'll come," Natasha said.

They continued dancing slowly, to the rhythm of the piano tune, and Natasha perched her chin on Loki's shoulder, her eyes half shut somnolently. In her peripherals, she saw the glass door swing open, to reveal a tall man with curly brown hair, and a bright polka dot handkerchief spilling out of his shirt pocket. On his arm was a robust woman with platinum blonde hair, and breasts that were practically popping out of her tight ivory v-neck dress.

Natasha squeezed Loki's arm, and whispered, "It's them."

Loki turned slightly, and caught the appearance of the man and woman. Nikolai was gesticulating wildly, and then released a smile that reminded Loki of a wolf before it ate its prey.

"What is the course of action?" Loki asked.

"We will track their whereabouts for the rest of the evening. For now, we have to stay put."

"Do you think that woman's his target?"

"Maybe," said Natasha. "But she doesn't appear to poise any threat."

Nikolai and the woman attached to his hip moved gracefully throughout the room; chattering, and talking to people. The woman that he was with appeared rather naïve, and frankly, sort of stupid. Loki overheard a tidbit of a conversation she exchanged with another male, and she had laughed hysterically at every comment the male said, and most were not even that humorous. The worst was that some Asgardian women resembled some of the behaviors of human women. It irritated Loki to no end.

He separated from Natasha briefly to collect a drink. As he was pouring rich merlot into a glass, he saw the women with the white dress stop by the drink table as well.

"Enjoyer le party?" she giggled, and then swooned. She positively reeked of alcohol; the pungent smell had assaulted Loki's senses before he even saw her. He was also positive that what she said was not correct French, either, considering that it was spoken in a heavy American accent. Also, the fact that her eyes were bloodshot, and the fact that her speech was affected heavily by heavy drinking, did not help with coherence.

"Sure," Loki said, and smiled thinly at her. "Are you enjoying the party? Quite lovely, I think."

She giggled, and slurred, "Yes, I-a luhhhve perties. Soo nicccce." She then started mumbling something about how it was a shame the party did not serve cantaloupe, because cantaloupe was her _favorite… _Loki only stuck around to see if he could pry any useful information out of her.

"I can't seem to find my dance partner…" Loki said, although he could clearly see Natasha's figure amongst the crowd. "Do you have one?" He then winced internally, and hoped she wouldn't take it as an opportunity to dance.

Thankfully, she didn't.

"I came with Ben-Ben-Benjamin-" she keeled over in laughter, and Loki glared at her. What a blithering idiot; a complete drunken fool. "He's-" she hiccupped, and then continued, "He's taking me out on a tour of le France, and- and get this, he used to work for my dad, but he fired him-dunno why, but he's so amazing, and-and yes. My daddy says that I-" She then raised her voice slightly, "Yes, I CAN TAKE OVER THE COMPANY!" She then downed the rest of her drink in one gulp.

Loki froze. His earlier suspicions were suddenly deemed true. In the woman's drunken state, she had confessed a motive for Nikolai to kill her, or at least hold her hostage to receive ransom money. He _had _to get to Natasha right away. He made eye contact with Natasha, who widened her eyes, and beckoned him to come over to her straight away. He said his goodbyes to the incredibly intoxicated female, and then wove his way through the crowd to find Natasha.

"Hello."

"Well, hello yourself. What did she tell you?"

"That is Nikolai's murder victim. Apparently, her father fired him from the company he once worked at-"

"Oh God," Natasha said, opening her mouth slightly. "I know all about the company…and why he got fired. It's a long story though, so please continue."

"Anyway," said Loki, "They plan on leaving the ball soon- and making their way out for some adventure. One that probably involves him wearing her skin as a coat."

Natasha was about to retort, when suddenly she saw Nikolai grab the woman's arm, and started to pull her near the doors.

"Loki, they're leaving. We need to go. now."

Loki and Natasha opened the doors slightly, and saw the couple descending down the hallway. "Take the back route," Natasha said, and pointed to a hallway the opposite way. Either way, it would lead to the exit. They ran out the doors, and for a moment, could not see Nikolai or the woman. But then Loki caught a hint of white farther down the passage way, and he motioned to Natasha. She started to hurry after them, but almost tripped over hem of her dress.

Natasha unzipped her dress then, revealing a tank-top and spandex shorts. Loki did his best not to stare at her. She changed into her catsuit, and placed her heels in her bag.

"That was the fastest I've ever seen you change," Loki said, smirking.

"Oh, shut up."

They ran after them, and finally caught the couple on a side street, holding hands. The woman was so intoxicated that she kept stumbling, and laughing wildly. Nikolai and the woman were surprisingly easy to follow, and she and Loki saw them stagger into a dark alleyway that was boarded by a wooden fence. Nikolai and his female companion headed in, and Loki and Natasha pressed their backs to the fence, and listened. They both had guns ready to shoot.

The air had a crisp chill to it, and it stung their skin. The wait seemed to go on forever. They heard the sticky sound of a kiss, and then the woman said,

"I am jus sooo happ-happy to be heeeyur." They heard a wild laugh, which was immediately cut short.

"Do you want people to hear you? Is that it?" Nikolai hissed, with a slight Russian accent.

"Our love is…is forever," she responded, and they heard the faint sound of a zipper being pulled down.

"Show me then," Nikolai grunted.

Natasha and Loki exchanged uneasy glances.

"Fuck that," Natasha said, and promptly strode into the clearing, gun raised. Nikolai's pant zipper was undone, and the woman's hands were wrapped around his neck. On notice of Natasha he swiftly pulled a gun out from his pocket, and pointed it at her.

"I know your scheme, Nikolai," she hissed, and pointed the gun at him.

"That's right," he said, and then brought the butt of the gun down hard on top of the woman's head. She collapsed on the ground, and her blonde hair lay around her face like a halo.

"You're outnumbered," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Not quite."

Natasha heard the rustling in the bushes behind the fence in the back, and decided she needed to act _now. _Nikolai shot at her, but she dodged the bullet, did a somersault, and hit him straight in the solar plexus. He wheezed, clutching his middle, and she pinned his right arm against his back, effectively cutting off any movement.

In the meantime, Loki decided to grab the female, who was surprisingly light. He hoisted her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

Unfortunately for them, Nikolai's sniper team swung over the fence, with heavy, military-esque guns. Natasha held Nikolai in a headlock, and she pressed her gun to the side of his head.

Loki felt immense frustration. If he had his strength and magic back, he could defeat all of these puny humans and go back to Asgard.

Guns on every side were pointed at them, and the men who held them did not say a single word.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Loki whispered in Natasha's ear, and then tightened his grip on the unconscious female.

Natasha whispered, "I have a plan."

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Muahahaha. Okay, that was pretty evil of me to give you a cliffhanger. But what happens next is a whole mix of action and emotions- so I thought I'd save it for the next chapter. I'll try to update it sooner, so not to keep you guys waiting. Anyways, I really love Loki's character...and Tom Hiddleston portrays him perfectly. In one of Hiddles's interviews, he said that every villain is a hero in his own mind, and also that he doesn't believe anyone is past the point of no return until their soul leaves their body. I really felt like that went along perfectly with this story. And I feel that Natasha is opening up to Loki- well, of course, because she said was pretty personal. Clint told Loki that Natasha killed someone important to her in a hospital fire- but he never told Loki it was Anna. Anyway, in some other chapter I'll give Natasha's memories more depth, and also...I'll make sure Loki talks more. He was a tad bit laconic in this chapter.**

**As usual, thank you for the follows, favorites, and reviews...you guys are the best.**

**Love you all!**

**xoxo**


	8. Another one bites the dust

**I am so sorry for the long gap in update...explanation at the bottom! Enjoy the chapter : )**

* * *

Loki peered at Natasha as they were pulled down the hallway, wondering the entire way onward, whether she was sane. When she was ordered to release the gun, she was entirely willing- and almost happy to do so. Worst of all, she held her hands above her head, her eyes betraying no emotion, in complete subjugation. He knew that she would never give up easily, or rather, at all. It just was not in her nature. So, then, she must have some sort of master plan- one that Natasha did not bother to tell him. It was probably impromptu, although she appeared on the outside to be calm, collected, and utterly indifferent. It was a look he had mastered to perfection, and he wore that serene mask to Thor's coronation day, playing every part the sanguine brother. Of course, it was all a lie, but a majority of the times where Loki appeared to be genuinely happy for someone else was all feigned anyway.

He felt the barrel of a gun jab into his bony spine, and wanted nothing more than to swivel around, and show that mortal man the entire potential of his god fury. Of course, that would be all in vain, and so, he gritted his teeth and continued walking. It was reminiscent of the time he passed in the helicarrier, where he was taken to that poorly constructed glass cage. He had been surrounded by a cult of soldiers who wielded guns, as if they would actually harm him.

Pah. He could have killed every single one of them in less than ten seconds.

His reminiscing was broken through when they stopped at a smoky gray door, embedded with the Eucharist.

"_Nikolai! _We have brought her."

The door was opened by a burly guard, and revealed a plain room that had a solitary mahogany desk in it, and, accordingly, a single chair.

Nikolai was standing, and had his hands spread out onto the mahogany table. A trickle of blood escaped down his forehead, like a centipede groveling in the dirt.

The guards deftly shut the door, enclosing them in the small area.

He bared a pair of wine-stained teeth at the two, and drummed his fingertips on the counter.

"Oh, Drakov's daughter, always failing at every operation she executes," Nikolai whispered, pursing his lips at Natasha.

Her face remained stoic as she said, "You're one to talk. I do recall that you once sent one of your top trained men to kill me. I broke his leg in three places, and tore through his intestines with my heel."

Nikolai's lip twitched, and he looked at Loki, who was assessing this exchange with a thin smile. "Who is your lover?"

Loki answered, "I believe that is none of your concern."

"Tell me, who is armed in this room, and who isn't?"

"That doesn't matter, as your current predicament shows."

"MY current predicament? Oh, Natasha, you do love the deluded ones, don't you?"

Natasha glanced at Loki, and back at Nikolai. She had absolute no idea where Loki was going with this. Funny, though, that added yet another person to the tally of those who rendered Loki deluded. And Nikolai didn't even know the guy.

"We," said Loki, "We, are in perfectly well hands. However, I would strongly suggest that you keep better hold on your tabs, in case your plans are sabotaged."

"Explain?"

"You really believe," said Loki, who then let out a short burst of laughter, "That _we _would just let you take us willingly, to exact whatever means of torture on us? You really believe that we do not have a backup system?"

He prodded Natasha in the shoulder, and laughed. Natasha played along by simpering at Nikolai.

"It's a shame, really," Natasha said coolly.

"It is a shame," Loki echoed.

"What…what is this _shame?_" Nikolai asked, his eyes wary.

"You really should keep check on your security measures. They really aren't placed accordingly. Natasha, they will never know what hit them."

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Nikolai screamed, and a string of spittle flew from his mouth.

Loki and Natasha exchanged glances.

"You- your efforts are futile, we have you in our clenches, and we any plans of yours are shot to shit."

Loki looked at Natasha, and said, "How much longer?"

Natasha bit her lip, and took a perplexed expression. "Hmm, maybe two minutes."

"TWO MINUTES?" Nikolai said, and gesticulating his hands wildly, he stated, "For what?!"

"One minute, twenty seconds," Loki muttered.

Nikolai fished a gun out of his pocket, and waved it at the two. "You-you quit this secrecy- I have enough on my plate-"

"We pose no threat to you, however, your concerns really should lay elsewhere," Loki said.

"After all, Stark happens to be a good friend of mine…he knows which bombs to-" Natasha said, and then cut off her speech, her eyes bulging in mock-horror.

"NATASHA!" Loki yelled, and grabbed her arm. "YOU DULL-WITTED TWIT!"

"Ah-ha!" Nikolai screamed, and ran over to them. "Where is the bomb? Tell me, or I'll blow your brains out."

Natasha suddenly began sobbing; huge, fat tears rolled down her face, as she whispered, "We planted it in the lower corridor, in room 239-"

Loki let out a string of curse words, and lunged at Natasha, fingers outstretched. She kicked him sharply in the knee, and he fell to the ground.

Alarmed, the guards immediately took off, leaving the injured Loki and hysterical Natasha with Nikolai.

Nikolai smirked at them. "You two are both, incredibly-"

Natasha smacked the gun out of his hand with a wicked grin, and then socked him in the jaw. He flew onto his back. As he was scrambling to get up, Natasha popped the butt of the gun on top of his head, and he slumped back down, like a rag doll.

"Enjoy the taste of your own medicine," she said, and then straightened up. "Okay, Loki, I got Fury's men posted in a building in south Paris, I just paged them. Our mission is to now find that girl."

Loki agreed, and they burst out of the room in a fiery explosion of legs and gunpowder. Two guards were posted by the door, and their faces were promptly slammed into the wall, causing them to slump down to the floor in a bloody mess. Natasha and Loki ran down the hallway, where it was solitary. Voices began to rise from beneath the floorboards, and they exchanged a glance. They must have realized by now that the entire bomb story was a hoax.

A guard surfaced from behind a column, and shot at Natasha. She dropped to the ground, and fired a bullet in his ankle. He cried out, and fell to the floor, clutching his ankle with a trembling hand.

She ran over to the guard, and immediately disarmed him. "Where is the girl?" she asked, clutching the base of his neck.

"Can't-tell-"

"If you do not tell the woman what she has requested, I shall blow a bullet through your puny brain a mile wide," Loki cooed, placing the gun against the man's temple.

He started to hyperventilate, and croaked, "Basement, room 207-please-please-don't shoot me!" Loki noticed with amusement, how a dark stain blossomed on the man's trousers, in the crotch area.

Natasha nodded, and said, "Thank you for your cooperation." She then deftly severed his consciousness, and then she and Loki were on the move. They opted to take the stairs, as there could very well be a dysfunction with the elevator. They encountered a few guards on the way down, but dealt with it in their usual fashion.

The basement looked like a prison, with a wash of cement walls, and a paved, abysmal, gray walkway. A medieval style light was hung from the ceiling, and had the effect of using a flashlight with a dying battery in the midst of a deep dark forest.

"This looks like a jail cell," Natasha stated, her guys gathering in her surroundings.

"The decoration is putrid," Loki said, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the sight of a rat scurrying across the floor.

"I'm sure that was their top concern," Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

At the end of the hallway, was another door. Loki kicked the door open with his foot, and it smacked the wall sharply. The woman lay crumpled on the floor. Her mouth was bound with a leather gag, and her hands and feet suffered the same treatment. A violet bruise graced her cheekbone. Her eyes were wide open, and she was wiggling her body frantically. Natasha knelt by her side, and removed the leather gag, which had left indents in her skin. The woman took in a full breath of air, her arms flailing, like a fish out of water. She rested her head on the floor, and mascara stained tears coursed down her face, as Natasha and Loki worked on untying her hands and feet.

"What's your name?" asked Natasha.

That question was left unanswered, as four guards entered the room. Before they could say anything, Loki and Natasha had left four bullets in each of their bodies, and then presumed their work.

The woman's face became inflamed with theatrical waterworks, frightened at the sight of death. Natasha clamped her hand over the woman's mouth, muffling the hysterical noises that emitted from it. "What's your name?" she repeated.

"An-Antonia," the woman shuddered.

"Okay, Antonia, we are going to help you out of this, but you _have _to stay calm or it won't work out, all right?"

Antonia blinked at her with wet eyes.

"Nod your head if you understand me," Natasha said, not unkindly.

Antonia nodded her head, and looking down, realized that Loki had untied the last of the knots. She stood up shakily, and almost fell over. Natasha caught her, and she was steadied back onto her feet.

Antonia, Natasha, and Loki headed through the doorway, and luckily, Antonia had been to this place before, and knew a shortcut out. After they entered the upstairs floor, they found themselves face to face with Nikolai's team, and Antonia began to sob again. Natasha was tempted to slap her, but had to remind herself that Antonia wasn't a bad person. She just had no backbone.

At that moment, a loud blaring voice declared that everyone must evacuate the building, or else they'll blow the entire thing up.

Everyone began to pour out like milk from a carton, and Natasha saw a bunch of Shield agents outside, carrying a limp man. On closer inspection, it was Nikolai.

She and Loki exchanged glances, and on his face was a slight smirk.

"What?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes.

"This…did not go as morbid as I thought it would," Loki confessed, perusing the area, taking in delight at Nikolai's team being handled by the burly Shield agents.

"Surprisingly, we actually managed to work together…and you didn't hand me as many smart-ass comments as I thought you would."

"I could change that."

"Oh, shut up."

One of the Shield agents, named Tom, approached Loki and Natasha. "Hey guys…so, you two allright? Any injuries?"

"Nothing too bad," said Natasha, and she turned to Loki. "How about you?"

"Perfectly fine," Loki said, and grinned.

Tom raised his eyebrows, and nodded. "Very good to hear. Well, good-bye to you," he said, and walked off.

* * *

It was not too late, actually. It was around 11:30 p.m. by the time that little fiasco was over. They crashed back at the hotel room, where they assessed their injuries, and both took showers.

Natasha was nibbling on a piece of French chocolate, and scrolling through some website on the Internet. She heard the creak of the bathroom door, and looked towards the source of the noise. Loki walked out, half naked, with a towel tied around his waist. Her eyes popped wide open, and she couldn't help but stare at his lean muscles, and his dripping hair, which formed slender rivers down his defined chest.

Thankfully, he did not notice her ogling. He headed straight to the clothes drawer, and started opening random ones. "My bad…I forgot to grab my clothes before I headed off," he explained.

"Loki…this is ridiculous," Natasha suddenly said.

He glanced at her, whilst holding a gray t-shirt in his hand. "What is ridiculous?"

" Our last day in Paris, and we're spending it cooped up in the room? We're going back to New York early tomorrow morning," Natasha said, unleashing a thought that had been plaguing her since they returned.

He looked at her a bit funny, and said, "Well, what do you propose that we do, then?"

Natasha pondered the possibilities, and there was recurring one that _seemed _like a good idea, but she wasn't totally sure. Finally, she said, "Maybe we could visit the Eiffel Tower? It's breathtaking at night time."

"Oh, is it that atrocious building, that tower thing?"

Natasha snorted. "That 'atrocious building' is actually the emblem of France…and Europe, as well. Anyway, you'll have to trust me on this. At the top, you can see the entire city, and it's all lit up…I think you might like it."

Loki scrunched his eyebrows, as if in deep thought, and then finally said, "Okay, fine."

As he walked back to the bathroom, Natasha couldn't help but sneak a peek at his ass.

What? She just happened to appreciate good looking men.

* * *

They were dressed, and ready to go. Except, this time, it was for something entirely different. Natasha had never once gone out and attempted to have a good time after a mission. She usually would just pour herself some vodka, and then go to bed.

But, she always heeded Thor's wishes in her mind, and, well, besides that, she _wanted _Loki to have a good time. Maybe when they returned, he and Thor could work it out?

Okay, maybe that was a bit _too _hopeful. But, it could at least be a start?

Natasha was never one for optimism, and her heart promptly crushed any sentimental ideas. She told Loki that the tower was in walking distance, so they wouldn't have to use public transport.

"I heavily dislike using the metro," he said.

"Oh, right, you're a _prince. _Guess you're not used to traveling without your royal carriage," she said dryly.

Loki looked confused. "What royal carriage do you speak of? I detest the metro because I am forced to come into contact with millions of strangers that are disease-ridden animals."

"Oh my God…well, you have a point there, but, well…" Natasha tried, and failed to think of a clever comeback at the moment.

They entered the walkway of the tower in twenty minutes, and they both craned their necks to gaze at the delicious sight in front of them.

"Every hour or so, they-" Natasha started, and was cut off.

Silver sparkles ran all the way down the Eiffel Tower abruptly, and the scintillating building reflected off their faces, which beheld awed expressions.

"That's what I was trying to say," Natasha said, squinting slightly.

A group of giggling teenagers ran by them, holding cameras. They stood on one of the pedestals by the tower, and started to take pictures, the flashes echoing through the night.

"Oh, that is vulgar," Loki said, giving the unsuspecting girls the look of death.

"Isn't everything 'vulgar' to you?"

He turned to look at her, only to see a slight smile on her face, indicating that she was just teasing him.

"Look…let's move on, and head up to the top, okay?" she said, and started to walk towards the tower.

"Whatever for?"

"You'll see."

He followed her as they went under the tower, and he secretly admired the architecture, noting how it was set in a saga of squares, all connected by triangular fragments, which were shining with butter-yellow light.

They traveled up a long, narrow staircase, past admissions, and then into a crowded waiting room for the elevator. They were packed like sardines in a can- with every movement, Loki's form brushed against somebody's arm.

Loki swallowed hard, and the noise that emitted from his throat was audible, stimulating Natasha to look at him oddly. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. "You all right?"

"I am completely fine," he lied, and focused on the ground, which was littered with a single candy bar wrapper.

"You're claustrophobic," she said suddenly, and smirked.

"You are utterly insane," he hissed, and focused on calming his reaction.

"In denial?"

"No, I am not."

"Whatever you say, Loki. But don't worry about it- we're probably next to go. We just have to wait until this group leaves," she said, indicating to the medium amount of people clustered around the elevator doors.

After much fidgeting (mainly from Loki), and semi-awkward small talk, it was their turn to head onto the elevator. It ended up being more of a nightmare for Loki, who was forced to endure even closer quarters with people he despised. Although, it was more refreshing to be surrounded by the French, as opposed to the Americans, for many reasons, that he could write a book on, if he had the time, and energy.

The elevator stopped shortly, and people started to get out. Loki began to follow them, but Natasha latched onto his arm, and pulled him back gently. "They're just stopping for the Eiffel Tower café," she explained, "We're only about half-way to the top."

"Well, that's lovely," Loki said, and with a crestfallen expression, leaned back into the elevator.

Finally, the moment he had been waiting for arrived. They stepped onto the medal studded aisle, and he followed Natasha over to the railing.

The city was electric.

Everything was in Technicolor.

It appeared as if the gods of Valhalla had wrapped a string of luminescent bulbs around Paris in their loving embrace, bathing the area in false starlight, and penciling in the sharp outlines of the skyscrapers, the pools, and the bridges, which shone like the depths of the sun.

Natasha directed his attention to a strange stone arch, that was beige, and was embedded with detailed artwork. "That's the "L'arc de Triomphe," she said. "You know who Napoleon is?"

"Why yes," Loki said, his gaze fixated on the building. He had read just a bit on some of Midgard's rulers, and Napoleon was one of them that had captured his attention. He had actually admired Napoleon- from the way he seized the French crown, even though he was not of royal blood, and how he managed to bring Europe to its knees- in complete subjugation. But then, Loki read about Napoleon's fateful demise at Waterloo, and made his own realization that he probably was not the best role model after all.

"They built that monument for him. He's a hero to Paris," Natasha said, and rested her elbows on the bar of the railing.

Napoleon had lost…but yet…had won. He enamored the hearts of the French people, and even though he had eventually failed in his escapade, flowers still rained down upon him, and women, men, children alike worshipped him as if he was a god. Loki had to admit that he wished there could be some monument in Asgard to document any prior success of his. He knew that someday they would induce hard labor and skill into concocting some brilliant emblem for _Thor, _of course. It was only fitting.

"What are you thinking about?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing."

"Is it about Thor?"

He froze, albeit shocked. "Why would you think that?"

"You're looking at that monument as if it should belong to you."

"I don't desire for that. It was crafted out of flimsy Midgardian material," Loki said, and sneered.

"I don't mean that. You wanted glory for all of your escapades, and you never got it." Natasha realized that she had been a tad harsh, but it was too late to take that back now. She just couldn't help herself.

Loki gritted his teeth, and hissed, "All of your Avengers got their fair share of fame, am I correct? All of that rubbish on TV about how 'Captain America saved my life.' I do not recall them ever mentioning you. Any good service that you perform is entirely in vain. Your previous atrocities make any of your actions currently a pathetic attempt to redeem yourself. You are a weak shell of a woman!"

His tirade had caught the attention of several people, who could not help but stare at the sight.

Natasha almost burst into laughter. "Loki…it seems like you're talking about yourself."

A thin line appeared between his eyebrows, and he searched her face with narrowed eyes.

"Okay, let's take this conversation elsewhere. We're disrupting the atmosphere here, all right?" Natasha said, feeling slightly like the time where she was trying to calm Banner down in the helicraft.

He turned his back to her, which was incredibly, shockingly, childish. But, he just did not want to be this close in proximity to her. He didn't want to walk off though, and get lost, so he opted for the best he could do.

After spending a fair share of time ogling the city, they finally left. Natasha and Loki did not say a single word to each other.

The walk back to the hotel was eerily quiet, and Loki looked like a dejected child: he had his hands buried in his pockets, and his head was slightly tipped down.

She decided to leave him alone, for the time being. She hated that they ended their trip on a sour note, but was a little exasperated. She had tried (and failed) to pull at his emotional heartstrings. She had given him an account of one of her most horrific memories, which was incredibly personal to her. But then again, he never forced her to tell him this. Well, he did know things about her through Clint, which was unfair in its entirety.

As they reached the gates of the hotel, Natasha suddenly stopped, and grabbed Loki's arm. He tugged it out of her grasp, and she, scrambling for words, said, "Wait."

He stopped and turned to look at her, a threatening gleam in his emerald eyes.

"I wasn't trying to make you feel bad," she said, attempting to justify what she said.

"I know," he said softly, staring deeply into her pupils.

"Wait…what?"

"I am aware."

He didn't say anything else after that.

In the hotel room, he spread a blanket out on the floor, without any fight, and as soon as his head hit the ground, he fell asleep. Natasha sank into the soft sheets of the bed, slightly perturbed. She did not feel sorry for what she had said. It was the truth, and he was still quite deluded. She could not let that stand quiet.

Natasha rolled over to see how he was doing, and instantly felt a pang of guilt that he was sleeping on the floor.

His chest rose and fell in even breaths, and his face was one of an innocent child's. His hands were clutched to his chest, as though he was attempting to hold onto something that was invaluable.

It's amazing how the most frightening of men have the composure of an infant at rest, which is a time of fragility, and heartbreaking truth.

* * *

**Okay, here's the spiel on what's going on:**

**I started school recently, and I've been getting a crapload of work this past week! My head has been buried in the books. Also, I am currently writing a novel, which has been taking me a long while to write- it's a frustrating process. Most nights, I'm not able to write my fanfic (or the novel) and ultimately, screws with my ability to update. **

**So, updates will be reduced to every weekend- I'll try my best.**

**In this chapter, I feel like Natasha would feel slightly awkward for telling Loki a piece of her past. And while Loki does respect her, he'd never say it to her face. Anyway, I don't think that they're capable of romance for right now...but in the near future, yes yes! **

**I'm absolutely exhausted, so I'll be headed to bed now. It's almost 2 a.m.**

**Thank you for reviewing, following, favoriting!**

**Please review!**

**Love you all :)**


	9. Blurred Vision

Loki woke at dawn, completely drenched in sweat, and ultimately relieved to be free from the clenches of the nightmare that had rattled any hopes of a peaceful slumber. He raked a hand through his hair, and exhaled sharply. He had gotten used to the unpleasant dreams by now, as he had had them every night, save for the one evening he shared the bed with Natasha.

The moments when he was about to drift into slumber were unnerving, because Loki knew he'd be entering another landscape of broken dreams and promises; monsters, and people he'd betrayed…

It was almost too much to handle.

The worst part was that once he rudely broke through the haze of the dream, he felt as if someone had injected a shot of pure caffeine into his veins. He was completely awake, and his vision was precise.

He ran a toothbrush over his teeth briefly in the bathroom, and splashed his face several times with ice-cold water. After submerging himself in that brief pleasure, he had no idea what to do. It was only 3 a.m. The balcony door screeched terribly when he opened it, it was like this feral whine, and he did not want to wake Natasha. There was no way in Hel he could go back to sleep peacefully.

So, he opted to roam the hallways.

He made sure to snatch the room key, and then jotted a little note on the paper pad by the bed, that said that he was going on a quick walk, but he'd be back.

He turned, then, and looked at Natasha. He could make out the faint outline of her face in the dark room, and her curls, which lay in disarray; tendrils of red were splayed onto her cheek.

He could kill her in this restful position, and no one would know. The little spider must have had some nerve to leave herself this unguarded.

Loki shook his head, shaking away the disturbing thoughts. He did not want to harm her at all. Maybe once, but now?

Never.

Loki felt utterly disturbed, and as he went into the bathroom once more to grab a bottle of water (for some reason, Natasha left the pack in the bathroom), he noticed something that left goose-bumps on the nape of his neck.

His eyes were a bright, vivid blue.

He blinked, and suddenly, they were back to their regular green.

He needed to get out _now. _

Loki ran out of the room then, and approached the hallway. As he shut the door, his back slid down it, and he leaned against the paneling, focusing on the simple art of breathing: in and out.

He must have been imagining it. He was no longer under the influence of the Tesseract- why would his eyes have appeared so blue, though? Why would he suddenly think such murderous thoughts? One moment he had been quietly scrawling a note to Natasha, and the next he was thinking of snapping her neck as she slept.

Was he a monster? Were those his deepest desires?

They couldn't be. They just couldn't.

Loki vacillated between the floors, aimlessly, his feet echoing on the thin carpeting. He did not what he was doing, really. In Asgard, whenever he felt sad, or stressed, he would go for long walks in the woods, just thinking, pondering about what he should do.

He missed it.

However, he did _not _miss Odin. He did not miss the leers and jabs of the crowds, who despised his existence, and he did not miss the surreptitious exchanges passerby made as they caught glimpses of him in the palace.

It was infuriating.

Not to mention, Natasha's lovely little comments had been jabbing at him, since the moment they left her mouth. She did not say it mockingly, but in a raw, sincere way.

And that terrified him.

Who was she to talk? _She _probably wanted glory for her _own _damn escapades. It had felt good, so, _so, _good to have the crowd kneel before him. He had come too far at that point to give up anything. He had lost a part of him he could never regain.

But, what scared him was the fact that Natasha managed to decode something personal to him- an internal battle within himself. The battle for glory and recognition- not just from Asgard, but, more importantly, from his family. That was something he did not want her to think about. She would _pity _him. Pity was a vile word. It connoted coddling, and swooning; saccharine, half-hearted advice to 'lift his spirits,' per se. He did not want to be pitied. And, if Natasha hoped that she could possibly get him to wear his heart on his sleeve, and pour out even a soupcon of his emotions, she was utterly, morbidly, insane. More even than he ever was; than what Thor and his foul friends proclaimed him to be.

Loki's efforts in Asgard and in Midgard were entirely in vain- and he hated admitting that. He knew, somewhere deep in his thick skull, that Natasha was right. He wanted a glowing monument to celebrate his victories that never existed.

He wanted recognition.

Loki knew that he was the loser in the end; he had lost to the Avengers, had been banished by Odin, threatened by Thanos…

And yet, he still clung onto this futile hope with slippery fingers, the hope that he had done _something _right, when in fact, he had done everything completely wrong.

These new realizations were continuous slaps to the face, and he was, to put it simply, tired.

He started to wander back to the hotel room, and rubbed his sleepy eyes. He was surprised to find that his eyelashes were wet, and he gingerly touched his face, which was marked by bewildered dampness as well.

He hadn't even realized he was crying.

* * *

A series of sharp raps at the door jolted Natasha from her sleep. She squinted at the digital clock beside the bed, which read,

_7:00 a.m. _

She sat up, and looked over to the floor on the left side of the bed, to wake up Loki. But instead of seeing an emotional train wreck on the floor, she saw a heap of blankets, with a pillow on top of it all.

The knocks on the door persisted.

"Fucker locked himself out," Natasha muttered, and dragged herself out of bed, groaning a little bit at the sudden and unwelcome movement.

She swung open the door, to find Loki standing there, his face was slightly relieved, but that barely perceptible relief dissipated into a mask of forced hardness. There was a tint of dusty-rose beneath his waterline, and the very tips of his eyebrows were a faded red. Was he just crying? Natasha could not imagine Loki doing that.

"Where did you go?" she asked, leaning her form against the door panel.

"I needed some air," he explained. "I woke up early, and didn't want to bother you. Didn't you see my note?"

"Um, no," she said, and rubbed the back of her neck, awkwardly.

"I left it on the night table," he said, a bit flustered. He shoved his way in, grabbed a random suitcase that was lying on the floor, and rapidly started throwing clothes into it, with superfluous force.

Natasha joined him in the process, and then suddenly snapped.

"Loki, are you really _that _damn sensitive that you can't handle _one _remark against yourself? Are you really _that _emotionally fucked?"

Loki dropped the sweater he had been holding, and turned to face her.

Her eyes were monotone, and her lips were pursed. She folded her arms over her chest, waiting for his reply.

"I handled it perfectly well. I just happened to come to the realization that you are an untrustworthy companion, and just as lacking in brain cells as the rest of your vulgar race."

Natasha's face flushed red, not because she was insulted, but rather, of the recurring frustration she continuously experienced with Loki.

"You're an asshole," she muttered, and whipped a pair of jeans into the travel bag.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, smirking.

"Oh," she hissed, and then sneered at him, her eyes narrowed. "I don't. I am just so sick of being around you. One minute you're easy to get along with, and the next, you're making goddamn death threats."

"So, you really do not care?" Loki said, arching an eyebrow.

"I just explained that."

"If you do not care, then why did you tell me a vivid personal account of how you slaughtered your sister?"

Natasha swung her fist at him, which he deftly avoided. She then leapt over the suitcase, clawing at his throat. She managed to grab the front of his shirt, and he dug his thumbs into her diaphragm, causing a sharp _wheeze _to escape her lungs. She did not let go, however, and before he could register what was happening, the heel of his foot snagged on a backpack behind him, and they fell, legs intertwining with each other, elbows awkwardly smashing into cheekbones, hair entrapped between voracious fingers.

And so, they ended up in the incredibly awkward position, of Natasha laying on top of Loki, with all of him pressed against all of her, in an awry display, and his hands still lingered at her waist. Her eyes met his, and the whites of his eyes resembled red snakes swimming in a sea of milk. They let out one solitary breath, his scattering across his cheek, and she realized their disposition, and promptly pushed herself off him, feeling more than a little bit disgusted-and-

Confused.

* * *

They gathered the rest of their belongings in a predominant silence that settled on the sparse lint on their clothes, and clotted their throat with the unmistakable air of umbrage.

They skipped breakfast entirely, as they were actually running late, and immediately headed to the landing port where Natasha had rested Stark's plane only a few days prior.

The flight home was laconic, and ultimately, uncomfortable. The misfit silence floated through the dense air, filling it with the dramatic lure of tension.

When Natasha came to the back of the plane to sit down and eat, she opted to have her meal as far away from Loki as possible. She nibbled on her food, staring out the window lazily, watching the clouds roll by. He did not seem to notice his lack of company, and appeared to revel in his solitude. Natasha snuck a glance at him, and subconsciously, her lip curled. He wore a proud smirk on his face, and looked incredibly pleased with himself. Well, he could go fuck himself with a shovel. She was done. Natasha had spent years upon years harassing, and prodding into others' minds, and now, finally, when she joined Shield, she did not expect that she had to do more. After all, it was that lovely skillset that had landed her in hot water years before. Natasha planned out the inevitable conversation with Thor back at home. She would simply tell him, "Look, I don't think this is going to work out," or, "I just need a break," or, maybe she could just hop on a plane and live in Switzerland, for fuck's sake. This was going to be one of the most annoying cases she had ever encountered.

At least they didn't have to share a room anymore. Natasha wanted to slap herself, just thinking about that frivolous night they'd spent at that café, dancing while completely hammered, and almost…flirty. But, Natasha lost her cool a little bit then. And, she knew better now. Loki was the 'God of Mischief,' and he sure lived up to his name. She could not forgive what he said about Anna, but then again, she gave him bait and he took it. Sentimentality had never been her strong suit. Why, oh why, did Thor make her do this? This was a torturous day. How was she expected to clean up someone else's mess, when she had her own messes to deal with? Waking up and living itself were daunting tasks. Yes, Natasha had fun moments, now, and yes, she usually was content with life now, but, there were episodes where she'd fall into ineffable depression, where she'd spend a day nursing her wounds with a shot of vodka and horrible television.

All in all, she wasn't sure if she was emotionally capable of handling Loki.

When the plane landed, Loki and Natasha found a limousine parked outside of the aircraft, with Tony's chauffeur carelessly dangling his elbow outside of the window, blasting a Queen song from the built-in radio system.

As they got in the car, the chauffeur asked them how the trip was. Natasha gave a nonchalant shrug. Loki unleashed a million-watt grin, and said, "Marvelous. Natasha is such splendid company."

"Ohh-kay then," the chauffer chuckled, and then rolled up the window that served as a barrier between the driver's seat, and passenger seats.

"Why were you so quiet on the plane?" Loki murmured, sneaking a look at her through half-lidded eyes.

She did not respond, and had an expression of pure boredom displayed on her face.

"Hmm, _Tasha?" _He used the pet-name to antagonize her, to weaken her iron façade.

Loki had been faced with nothing but turmoil this past day, and he wanted to have at least a _little _bit of fun.

Natasha did not even take the time to roll her eyes, and instead opted to pull out some magazine from her carryon bag, and flipped through the glossy pages.

"What are you reading, _Tasha?"_

_Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him, _a voice repeated in her head. It was somewhat of an effort. Natasha was splenetic and exhausted from the jet-lag, and the last thing she needed was Loki being…well…Loki.

"Remember that…endearing conversation between me and ah, the one-eyed man in the floating fortress?"

Natasha skimmed a magazine page with a fingernail, pretending to be oblivious to his taunts.

"I do recall, that he promised me a, hmm, what's it called? Right, magazine. I never received one from the brute. However, you happen to possess one. I think it would be in your best interest to share."

Natasha flipped a page harder than she needed to, and her thumbnail left a noticeable indent in the top corner of the paper.

"I know that you can hear me."

_Flip. _

"Ah, I bet when you return home, your beloved Clint shall embrace you, and shower love upon you, and hand you a singular red rose, and ask you to be his betrothed."

_FLIP. _

"I remember I asked you once if it was love between you two. You denied it. Are there problems with your consummation? Is he not well-endowed? I bet you pretend to moan when he-"

Natasha flipped open a switch on her watch, unleashing a clear spray that jet-loaded into Loki's shell-shocked face, and within seconds, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped to the ground.

She then picked up the magazine from the ground, and continued reading.

* * *

Thor arranged, and then rearranged the amalgam of fruits that had been lying in the wicker-basket. He wanted everything to be just right. He had wanted to see his brother desperately- to see if there had been any changes within him, from his stay with Natasha, and if he was- hopefully- obtaining a more cheerful aspect on life. Thor's hand then slipped, dropping the artificial banana into the basket, disrupting the pattern of the rest of the fruits.

"By the gods!" he boomed, and then preceded to dump everything back out on the counter and start again.

"Someone's a bit OCD," Tony chuckled, observing Thor from the other room, which was connected to the kitchen.

"Stop, he's excited for his brother's arrival," Pepper whispered, into Tony's ear.

"That makes one of us," Tony grumbled.

Pepper prodded his side, but her facial expression indicated that she agreed with Tony. The past few days had been a temporary relief from the cloud of gloom that appeared to envelop Loki.

"And, anyway," Tony said, "Do you think Loki really gives a shit about fake fruit?"

Pepper bit her lip to retain laughter.

Thor finally looked up, extending his hands out slightly at the newly rearranged fruit basket, as if that would make it stay in its formation.

"Ah, hello Stark and Lady Pepper!"

Pepper had already told Thor multiple times that it was unnecessary to add the title of 'lady' to her name, but he either decided to ignore what she said, or he just had a horrible memory.

Probably the latter.

"Umm, where's Bruce and Steve?" Pepper asked.

"Bruce went to the grocery store. I told him it'd be funny if he went as Hulk, y'know, with him carrying this tiny shopping bag, and picking up the shelves and shaking them-" Tony said, laughing at the sight.

The others admittedly exchanged awkward laughter as well, and then Tony said, "Oh, and Steve said he needs to 'take a nap.' Most definitely a euphemism for 'I want to avoid the emotional train-wreck that's about to slam into this house in thirty minutes'."

"I'll get out the alcohol," Pepper suddenly offered, and took out a lean bottle of chardonnay from the cabinet up above her, and placed it on the island.

"Have care how you speak! I do not appreciate you mocking Loki," Thor scowled.

"Okay, buddy, you crash _my _house with_ your _crazy-ass bro, and we let you eat _and _sleep here. I have the full right to make fun of Loki as much as I damn want," Tony retorted.

Thor's face colored. "That does NOT matter. Loki has feelings, and desires as the rest of us, and we should make him feel welcome!"

"Well, he sure as hell didn't make the people in Manhattan feel very welcome!"

"Ohh-ohh-kay, guys, calm down, um, Thor," Pepper said, laughing nervously, grabbing Thor's huge bicep, "Can you help me reach this bottle of wine? I'm not tall enough."

Thor obliged, and as he was rooting through the cabinet, Pepper shot Tony a warning glance.

"_What?!_" Tony mouthed.

Pepper gave him a no-nonsense look, with her hand in a fist by her hip.

Tony knew that look pretty well. Guess he wouldn't be getting out the suit now. Damn.

Pepper motioned for the boys to sit at the table, and they all poured themselves glasses of alcohol. Tony and Thor did not argue anymore about Loki, and instead chose to laugh about random happenings in the world.

Of course, when one sits down with the intention to relax, that never actually happens. Just as the three were beginning to bask in the glow of simple conversation and good wine, the doorbell rang.

"Ah, fuck!" Tony groaned. "Pepper, can you please answer it?"

"You two are sissies," Pepper said, smirking.

Thor didn't want to open the door because he and Loki weren't on the best terms, and he did not want to risk flaring Loki's feisty temper. And Tony...self-explanatory.

The guys suddenly heard a frantic "holy shit" emanate from the front door, and Tony and Thor immediately rose from their seats, and ran to the doorway.

The sight that greeted them was an incredibly flustered Natasha, supporting an unconscious Loki, who leaned heavily on her arm.

"How was the couples' retreat?" Tony snorted.

"Go fuck your-self," Natasha snapped. She then dragged Loki in, as if he was a filthy, sopping-wet cat, and promptly dumped him on the floor. She then ran up the stairs, leaving Tony, Pepper, and Thor with Loki.

"Oh, hey, Pepper, uh, I need your help with that, um-broken machine thing, uh-"

"Right on it, sorry, Thor, um, Tony's-uh-cat-car- is on fire, um, good luck, sorry-" Pepper's terrible lie was curtailed by Tony, who quickly expressed insincere condolences, and tugged Pepper along.

Thor was left, staring at the broken man who was once his best friend, his eternal companion. With a feeling that was less sorrowful, and more hollow, Thor gently picked up his brother, and carried him to his room, where he tucked him into bed like their mother used to do when they were mere children.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**First off, I apologize for the short chapter! I know not a lot happened. Anyway, the past few chapters have been full of angst- and it was nice for me to include Stark and Thor as necessary comic relief. Natasha and Loki had a bit of a falling out- but don't worry, all will be resolved! Fun things will happen in the next chapter, and I am super excited to write it. I'll try to update asap :)**

**Thanks as usual for the favorites, follows...**

**And to the latest anonymous reviewer: Loki will come to terms with that, don't worry! It just takes a bit of time. I just can't see them as romantic right now...I mean, especially since Natasha thinks 'love is for children.' BUT they will end up together- of course, because it's a Loki and Natasha fanfic, and also because they are the right medicine for eachother's wounds...**

**So, please review! Reviews are much appreciated.**

**I love you all!**

**xo : )**


	10. Dead on Time

Loki sat upon a velvet-encrusted chair that was out of many in the effervescent dining hall. Odin, Thor, and Frigga had just taken their seats, and were chatting animatedly about each other's day, and various other irrelevant things that Loki wasn't sure whether or not he should partake in. To preoccupy himself with _something _before the food arrived, Loki chose to look around, and appear as though he was focusing on something important. The room itself was speckled with random tapestries, that appeared to be freshly painted with a drippy silver color, and viscous, microscopic bubbles rose to the surface of the permeable paint.

It was odd.

"THOR! AHH, MY GOOD BOY," Odin yelled, his booming voice shaking Loki out of his reverie.

Loki rolled his eyes, annoyed with how often Odin put layer after saccharine layer of praises upon Thor's gigantic head.

"YES, THOR, YOU ARE SUCH A WONDERFUL SON!" Frigga screeched, and began to hysterically, almost comically, clap her hands.

Loki raised his eyebrows, and said, "I understand that Thor is almighty, but is there really a need to yell so?"

"Oh, Thor, you're so amazing," Frigga swooned, batting her eyelashes at her legitimate son, and completely ignoring Loki. Thor in turn, smiled at her, and enveloped her small hands with his.

"Anything for you, mother."

"What a worthy son! So noble. You are definitely an Odinson."

Loki stood up suddenly, tears stinging his eyes. He had had _enough. _He no longer wanted to hear the three of them gloat about Thor's greatness. Especially Frigga. Why would she do that? She had always been so protective over Loki, why was she suddenly casting him out as well?

"I'm leaving now," Loki announced, hoping to provoke some sort of reaction within his…

'family.'

"We're just about to eat," Thor said, fixating Loki with a blank stare. "You're not like me, you need the weight."

Thor flexed his enormous arm, and Odin lifted Thor's hulky muscle into the air, jeering, "THIS is the flesh of a true Asgardian!"

Frigga then said, "And, with the brawn, and true skill of a true Asgardian."

"But, mother, I like to do magic by myself in my room," Thor whined, pouting.

Frigga and Odin cackled, and actually slapped their knees.

Loki's face was an amalgam of violet streaks, and he shook violently, his body in a cold sweat, and his hands in fists by his side.

"STOP IT!" he screamed, shaking his hands like a child.

The trio did not appear to notice him.

At that moment, thankfully, servers strode into the dining hall, carrying metal trays of various sizes, that emitted steam through the small openings in the top. Once that was all settled, the servers raced out, colliding with each other, and sliding on the scarlet carpet like novice ice-skaters.

"What are they doing?!" Loki muttered, staring at the rambunctious servers with an incredulous look.

Odin, Frigga, and Thor dutifully ignored them, and began opening the tops of the various dishes. Loki was too distracted by the strange behavior of the servers, and noticed, with a certain horror, how they started tearing down the tapestries with their bare hands, smearing silver all over their bodies.

"Odin, look, look what they're doing," Loki said, tugging on Odin's sleeve.

Odin muttered, "Shut up, boy," and then shoved a tray covered by a metal lid in front of Loki.

A delicious smell, like beef roasting over a pit infiltrated Loki's nose, and he breathed in deeply, more than ready to quench the ferocious hunger which overtook him at the moment. He removed the lid, wincing at the heat the hot metal projected, and cast it aside.

Loki then looked at the dish he was served, and suddenly felt his breakfast make his way up his throat.

Two crimson eyes sneered at him from the decapitated head of Laufey, which was drizzled in gravy and decorated with chopped up bits of pear. Loki let out a bloodcurdling scream, and stood up so violently, his chair tipped back and smacked the floor with a _thud. _

"What's wrong, Loki?" Odin asked. "Your food not agreeing with you?"

"Guess not," Laufey said, and his head rolled off the platter, and onto Loki's feet, which were then splattered by blood from the severed neck of Laufey's head.

Loki took off running towards the double-doors at the end of the dining hall, but they got further and further away with each step. What was happening?!

The spilled blood on the floor had a life of its own. Sticky tendrils snaked across the carpet, writhing, until they reached Loki's bare feet, and wrapped around his bony ankles. Loki squirmed, trying to get free, but the red ropes dragged him down, and he crashed to the floor. The tendrils bound his arms, and wove into his hair. He tossed, screaming, "HELP!"

But Odin, Thor, and Frigga appeared to be totally indifferent.

His screams were eventually muffled by the cutting threads, and the strange ropes of blood slowly, with conviction, extended themselves over his wan eyes.

And then everything went black.

* * *

Loki scrubbed at his teeth, hard, one hand resting on the nozzle of the sink. After that nightmare, he had to change clothes, because they were utterly soaked with sweat. The taste in his mouth was intolerable, and so, after dressing, he began to perform his usual oral hygiene ritual.

He spat and rinsed, making sure any extraneous remnants of toothpaste were washed down the drain. His gaze involuntarily wandered to the mirror in front of him, and he was instantly revolted. His lack of sleep had caused his naturally deep-set eyes to look like craters, and bruise-like washes of yellow and violet lay in a circular fashion around his weary eyes. His cheekbones were prominent, as was his sharp jawline.

At least, at least his eyes looked green, unlike that time in Paris.

Loki knew that sleep was futile, and began his usual ritual of taking a walk. He headed for the elevator, and stepped inside, the doors closing with a _whoosh. _He was contemplating heading to the exercise room, but then he remembered that Stark had quite a colossal amount of alcohol in the lounge, which he was more than happy to have. So, he pressed the corresponding digit in the elevator, and impatiently tapped his foot on the hard-wood floor, counting down each number with every _bing. _

Finally, he arrived at the desired floor. It looked strange with all of the lights out. Loki could make out the faint outline of the TV, and the crescent-moon shaped couch. His gaze finally landed on the desired target:

The bar.

Loki first felt the wall for an indication of a light switch, and found one, which turned on three bright lights above the bar table. He picked up the various drinks, unscrewing the tops, and then gingerly sniffing each one. He eventually found absinthe, which was a favorite of his.

_Now, where are the glasses? _

He opened cabinet after cabinet, until he found medium-sized glasses emblazed with the Stark logo. Loki rolled his eyes.

He poured the pale green liquid into the glass, about halfway, and then set the bottle down. He lifted the drink up to his thirsty lips, intending to take a few sips, and then leave.

He tossed the entire drink down his parched throat, tilting his head backwards to absorb every last drop. He then popped the cap back off of the sealed bottle, and carried it over to the couch, where he took a long, hearty swig out of it.

The alcohol settled pleasantly in his stomach, and a welcoming heat flared in the pit of his belly, spreading its supple fingers along his icy veins. He hummed slightly, and flopped onto the couch, his legs outstretched.

He didn't need Thor. Or Odin. Who was he kidding? He was perfectly fine exactly where he was right now. And trying to befriend the humans? What were they thinking?! He was a god, a diving mortal being! No one could stop him!

With each gulp of the foul liquid, he felt energized, renewed, as if someone had peeled off his skin and then given him an entirely new one. He was rejuvenated. This was the perfect treatment. Why did the Avengers bother for him to be so buddy-buddy with Natasha? What was that all about? No, no he did not need her, and he did not need Thor, and he did not need anybody except for that eloquent bottle of absinthe, which swirled oh so pleasantly going down his throat.

After a while, the bottle was almost drained, and it fell from Loki's clumsy hand to the carpeted floor, soaking it in the alcohol.

"I am a GOD!" He yelled, and stood up on the couch, unevenly. "I CAN DO WHAT I WANT! AND I WANT TO LEAVE! I AM LEAVING!" He shot his fists in the air in some celebratory dance, and then hopped down from the couch gracefully.

Well, he thought of it as graceful, but he landed hard on his knees, and rolled over to his back, laughing.

"This is fantastic!"

Loki opened cabinet after cabinet of fine glasses, all imported from various areas, as scrawled on the bottom. He carried a bundle of the glasses like a baby in his arms, cradling them close to his chest. One fell and smashed into smithereens on the floor.

He wandered over to the nearby bathroom, which had a window, and conveniently, a fire-escape. He dropped all of the glasses out of the window, and some plummeted straight down, while others caught on the fire escape. "Hope you eeenn-joy yur glasse n-now, Stark," Loki slurred. He suddenly felt a tight clench around his stomach, and before he knew what was happening, he projectile vomited.

It landed all over the toilet seat, the floor, the resin-mirror, and all over Loki himself.

"Oh, smells so bad," he muttered.

For the second time that night, he passed out by the toilet seat, curled into the fetal position.

* * *

Natasha awoke that morning, feeling refreshed, and ultimately, all-right. She stretched in bed languidly, her mouth open in a slight yawn. She padded over to the bathroom, and snagged back her wild hair, which kept getting in her eyes, although it was short.

She heard a loud knock on the door, followed by, "Natasha! This is Thor!"

"Coming," she called, and then swung open the door to greet Thor.

"I shall accompany you to the elevator," Thor boomed.

They were alone. Natasha suddenly wondered where the rest of them were, especially Clint.

"Okay. Oh, by the way, have you heard any word from Barton?"

"The hawk is still in the throes of slumber."

"Well, that's a way to put it," Natasha said. "Is he okay?"

"He appeared rather glum after you left."

"Oh." Natasha didn't know what else to say. She felt instantly guilty for avoiding someone who was one of her good friends- at least, she thought. Clint had saved her life. But lately, he had been acting like a woman on menopause, erratic, and incredibly moody. Whenever she had tried to talk to him, he always managed to bring up Loki, or something around that topic _just _to annoy her.

Natasha decided that later that night she would try to hang out with Clint, and perhaps get him to ease up a bit. He had nothing to be jealous of.

Or did he?

Loki's little snippet about Anna had left Natasha in a foul mood, and his obnoxious attitude in the limo returning home was enough to prompt her to sedate him. Loki knew exactly how to push her buttons, something which he loved to do, so he did it often. Natasha was surprised they had managed to get through the Paris trip without any serious bodily harm on his part, but they did, and actually, although she hated to admit it…

She had fun.

They arrived at the elevator, and stepped inside. The doors closed, and Natasha reached over to press the correct button, but Thor waved her hand away.

"I desire to press the magical button," he stated.

"Whatever floats your boat," she yawned, her eyes glazing over.

The button he hit illuminated with a golden light, and then the elevator began to move downwards.

"Where's everybody else?" she asked suddenly.

"I assume that they are sleeping. My brother is asleep, as well…want him to accompany us?"

"No."

"Well-"

"Look, Thor," Natasha said, sternly, "I really do not think this is going to work out… I really wish I could help you, and I've tried, but-"

"It is all-right," Thor interrupted.

"Uh, you sure about that, because…" Natasha trailed off, slightly confused. She had expected Thor to freak-out, or beg her to continue, or take extraneous measures.

"I did not mean to pressure you, Lady Natasha," he said, with a small smile. "I understand Loki can be quite a hindrance on one's mood."

_Well, that's quite the understatement, _she thought.

The elevator dinged at the appropriate level, and they stepped out.

"May I ask what he did that was so vulgar?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," Natasha confessed. As she lit up the hallway, she realized that they hit the wrong button in the elevator, so they were now stuck in the lobby, not the dining area. "Thor, we're on the wrong floor," she said.

He still continued walking through the hallway, and entered the lounge. He stopped dead in his tracks, and his hands dropped to his sides.

"Uh…what's the problem?" Natasha asked.

"Someone has broken in!"

"I seriously doubt that," she said, and forced her way past him.

There was a scattered array of broken glass, which littered the carpeting of the lounge. An empty bottle of absinthe was propped on its side on the counter, and a solitary glass lay on the carpet, leaking green liquid into the fibers.

"What. The. Fuck.," she said, her eyes roaming the messy area.

"Who…who must have done this?" Thor said, incredulously.

"Was it Loki?" Natasha asked, glaring at Thor.

"No, no, he doesn't drink."

"I take your word on that."

Natasha placed her hand on the granite counter-top, and suddenly felt something prick her palm. As she raised her hand, she saw a medium-sized piece of glass embedded in her flesh.

"Fuck," she swore, and using her fingernails, dug it out, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. "I'm going to go rinse this off in the bathroom. Thor, check Jarvis's security readings, and see if there was a breach in the system."

Natasha slid open the door to the bathroom, staring at the miniature wound with disdain. As she turned on the tap water, and displaced her injury under the cool liquid, she glanced up in the mirror momentarily, and was instantly revolted, as there were splotches of what appeared to vomit all over the surface.

And, as she was peering at the strange substance, she noticed a certain tall, dark, figurine slumped against the toilet behind her, reflected in the mirror. She whipped around to find Loki, his cheek pressed to the toilet seat, and speckles of vomit on the floor, and toilet seat.

"Thor!" she yelled.

Thor raced into the bathroom, saw his brother's state, and almost had a breakdown, but Natasha placed her hand on his shoulder and calmed him down, with reassuring sentiments. As she looked around the room, she noticed that the window on the left side was wide open, sending a breeze circulating through the area. Of course, there was broken glass on the window pane, and scattered on the floor below it as well.

"I thought you said Loki doesn't drink," Natasha said, rather sardonically.

Thor ignored her sarcastic statement, and hoisted his brother up by the underarms.

"Thor, what are we going to do, I-"

"Stark can_not _know about this," Thor said, in an urgent manner.

"Right," Natasha said, "Or he'd kick your ass out."

"Will you help me?" Thor pleaded.

Natasha was ready to refuse, as she had dealt with a superfluous amount of messes that had radiated from Loki's being, but, as she looked at Thor, she saw a deep-felt sadness in his eyes, showing someone that needed just a bit of help. And the person that Thor was attempting to support was not doing so great either. Loki's skin was washed out, and his head drooped. He looked like a poorly sewn rag doll, that was stuffed with sopping-wet cotton balls.

"Okay," she said quietly, "I'll help."

Thor tossed Loki over his shoulder, and stepped out of the room. He turned around for a brief momentum, and said, "I'll be taking him to his room, and-"

"I'll get the glass," Natasha interjected.

As Thor left, she stood there, staring at all the clear fragments of glass.

She sighed noisily, and leaned on the sink's edge with her elbow.

This was not something she had signed up for.

A half hour later, with several abrasions on her bare knees, and slender slices along the tips of her fingers, the glass was cleaned up. Thor took care of the vomit on the toilet seat, thankfully, because Natasha absolutely refused to do that.

After that fiasco, Natasha was exhausted, and headed down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Everyone was there, digging into their food. Clint was sitting with them, slicing a pancake methodically. When he saw that Natasha by herself, and not Loki, he actually stood up out of his seat and went to say hello to her.

"Hey," he said, and embraced her.

"Hi, yourself," she said, and patted his back.

A grin split his face. "How was the trip?"

"Fantastic." She rolled her eyes.

"Sure sounds it," he scoffed.

"You seem happy this morning," Natasha said, snagging a seat next to him.

"Yeah, that's cause your emotionally challenged boy-toy isn't here," Tony pointed out. "Where's Shakespeare?"

Natasha ignored his jab about Loki, and replied, "Sleeping, I think." She grabbed the pitcher of ice-cold orange juice with one hand. Sneaking a peak at Tony, she hoped and prayed that he would never find out. But suddenly, as she was mid-pour, she remembered that one antagonizing conversation they had exchanged, where Tony revealed that he had security cameras hidden _everywhere._

She broke off the flow of juice, and raised the cup to her lips, drinking heartily. Everyone seemed normal as usual, as there were no puns or wise-ass remarks about Loki, or any threats. She hoped that Tony did not notice the missing collection of glasses, but, whatever. He was a billionaire. From the looks of the extensive glass cabinet, it appeared as though he had over a thousand fine sets of drink-ware. In short, he probably wouldn't even notice.

After breakfast was over, Natasha stood up, and made her way back to the area where the elevator was. As she was waiting for it to arrive, she vaguely made out the sound of footsteps. She turned around, and saw Clint stroll into the setting, his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Tasha," he said.

"Hello, yourself."

"Look…I know we have been having problems lately, and, I'm sorry for being a jerk," Clint replied, shrugging slightly.

"Don't worry about it. I've forgotten what you said anyway. Besides, your anger was understandable," Natasha reasoned.

"Well, that's good I guess. I just missed you…you've been spending all of your time with that freak."

"Yeah…I've missed you too," said Natasha. She despised Loki at the moment, but Clint calling him a freak made her chest stutter with a strange rhythm, and she didn't know how to comprehend that at the moment.

Silence ensued, and Natasha felt that she should be the one to break it. "You know…maybe we could head out tonight? Grab some sushi?"

"Yeah, sounds great, Tasha. When?"

The elevator pinged, and they slid inside. Natasha selected their floor, and their conversation continued.

"Anytime, really. I have nothing to do today."

"I thought you had to chaperone Loki or some shit."

"I told Thor I didn't want to do it anymore."

Clint stopped and peered at Natasha, who was perusing the rows of illuminated elevator buttons, as though they were whispering a clandestine message to her. "What did Thor say?!"

"He's fine with it."

"That's not really his nature…he's fought tooth and nail to bring that lunatic here. Do you really think he'd give up _that _easily?"

Natasha sighed. "I don't think so. But he honestly seemed okay with it. I did make an effort. I went with Loki to Paris, we spent time together, we ate together…"

Clint's muscles tightened, and his chest puffed out a bit. "What do you mean you spent time together? How could you spend any sort of _time _with _Loki, _of all people?!"

She shrugged. "He can be sort of pleasant when he wants to be. But the majority of the time, he's an asshole."

"Is this some kind of friendship?" Clint said, narrowing his eyes.

Natasha snorted. "Oh, please."

When they stepped out of the elevator, Natasha told Clint that she needed to take a shower and get dressed. As she turned to depart, he said, "So, how about eight o'clock then? Sushi sounds great."

"Eight's good!" she called out, her voice fading into a reverberating echo.

* * *

When Loki woke, for the second time that morning. He felt as if someone threw his body into a meat grinder. The ceiling above him blurred and swirled, and his stomach panged with a sharp longing.

"Nice to see you're up, brother," a voice said, emanating from the opposite corner of the room. Loki sat up in bed, and felt like someone was smashing a hammer into his temples. He groaned, and rubbed his forehead in an undulating rhythm. As he squinted, he could make out the dim outline of Thor, who lay back in a velvet green chair opposite Loki's bed.

"How long was I out?" Loki asked, wearily.

"For a while. It is four in the afternoon now."

"Oh." Loki ran his hand through his hair, and felt a knotted clump, stuck together with the early remainder of his late night joy. He crawled out of bed, his sore feet touching the ground gingerly, and then stood up, supporting himself on the bedpost. Loki swayed from side to side. Thor got up immediately, and grabbed Loki's arm, steadying him.

"Let _go _of me," Loki hissed, extracting his arm from Thor's grasp.

Thor sighed. "As you wish. I have been meaning to speak with you over certain matters."

"I would _love _to hear it," Loki sneered.

"Why did you arrive here in such a distressed manner? You were unconscious," Thor said, recalling that abysmal night.

"I do not know what you are talking about," Loki said, and started to make his way into the bathroom. Thor grabbed his arm, and yanked him back.

Loki exhaled an exasperated breath, praying for the inevitable lecture to be short.

"What have you said to Lady Natasha that has made her so upset?" Thor asked, his eyes searching Loki's.

"I do not know. Women are quite the sentimental beings…_brother,_" Loki said, smiling at Thor.

"Yes, you _do _know. STOP with this foolishness," Thor said, his voice rising louder in tenor.

"I was just having a bit of fun."

"I doubt that was _anything _close to fun, Loki! You-"

Suddenly, Thor's watch, a slim black device that Tony Stark had given him last week, flashed on, and emitted a little beep. Loki and Thor stared at the watch in confusion. A voice suddenly projected through the little speaker, located on the side of the watch.

""_So, how about eight o'clock then? Sushi sounds great."_

"_Eight's good!"_

Loki recognized both of those voices in an instant. "It's the spider and her lover," he scoffed.

Thor paid no attention to the derogatory tone of Loki's embittering voice, and looked at the watch. "They may have accidentally… 'paged' me," he said, referring to the term Natasha had previously used.

"I would assume they're on better terms then," Loki said, chuckling. "Sushi…what a strange word. Where would one achieve this food?"

"Hmm," Thor said, slightly distracted. "A new eating establishment has opened in the vicinity of Stark Tower, called _Sushi House. _I took Jane there last week," he said, proudly.

Loki rolled his eyes at the reference to Thor's sickly infatuation with that puny mortal.

"I advise that you, please, try to amend your relations with Natasha," Thor said.

"Why? She was never a large part of my life previously. Why would it be imperative to atone any of my 'wrong doings' as you say?"

"Well…it's the right thing to do."

"Oh, and I am the _master _of that."

Thor rubbed the sides of his nose, and said, "Good-bye, brother, I will keep in touch with you later." He needed some food, and a place to go. This morning had been tumultuous, and quite annoying, for that matter.

* * *

The _Sushi House _was an elegant restaurant, and so, Natasha pulled out any form of black-tie wear from her closet. She scrolled through her options. However fancy the restaurant may be, she did not want the get-together with Clint to appear as a date.

Suddenly Natasha stopped, and the dress she had been holding slithered through her fingers and collapsed on the bed. Did she really think this could be a date? Well, she certainly did not want it to be, but she had rarely thought that Clint viewed her as anything more than platonic. Why were these strange suspicions seeping through her mind, then?

_Loki. _

She shook her head, trying to dispel any of those strange thoughts. She and Clint had a good friendship, and she didn't want Loki placing any real doubts in her head.

After a little while, she forgot all about that. She chose a navy blue dress with a sweetheart neckline that was comfortable, and easy to maneuver in. She slipped on beige pumps, tied her hair back into a chignon, and then added a final touch of lipstick. She was more than ready to go.

She grabbed a small purse, the only one she owned, and left the room. Clint at the moment was out in the city, and he told her that he would just meet her at the restaurant. The remainder of the Avengers were somewhere out at a bar, and she had heard whisperings that Thor was bringing Loki along.

_Good luck with that. _

A prototype of Jarvis saw Natasha out the door, and locked it safely behind her.

She made her way down the city street, which was awash in the glow of the lamp-posts. She turned right at the end of the street like Thor told her to in his directions, and stopped when she saw bright red fluorescent lights flashing 'Sushi House.' She walked into the establishment, which _was _quite elegant, and she was suddenly glad she had forced herself into that dress. Lights revolved around the dimly lit room, and roses sprouted from ebony light-bulb shaped vases.

Natasha stated that she made reservations for two, and the woman at the stand confirmed that. As she walked through the restaurant, she noticed how beautiful the restaurant was. Ice-blue strands, shaped like tree branches, snaked along the dark walls of the restaurant. She sat at her reserved area, which was a booth with soft vanilla seats.

After about five minutes, and repeated checking of her watch, Clint wasn't there. _It's only five minutes…calm down, _she told herself, but those reassuring thoughts didn't stop her from pulling out her cell-phone and calling Clint.

He did not pick up.

Five more minutes rolled by, then ten. It was now 8:30 p.m. Flustered, Natasha called Clint yet _again, _but he still didn't pick up the phone. Maybe he forgot?

A waiter stopped by her table, and asked Natasha if she was ready to order. She said that she was still waiting for her friend, but that he'd come within five minutes, so they'd be ready to order then.

Natasha decided to look through the menu propped on top of the table, and immediately began marking food items down in her brain that seemed scrumptious.

"Sorry I'm late," a svelte voice declared.

"Clint! Finally!" she declared, throwing her hands up, and then setting them down on the laminated surface of the menu. She heard Clint slither into the seat opposite of her.

"So," she said, "What took you so long?" She looked up as she said it, and then froze in horror.

For it wasn't Clint that stared back at her from across the table.

It was Loki.

* * *

**Whoooo cliff hanger. I feel bad about making those because my updates are a bit on the slow side. BUT I still managed to upload it, despite my laborious amount of schoolwork. So, cheers. I realized that in my story I was kind of making Clint a one-sided jerk...and then tried to spruce up his and Natasha's friendship, which didn't really work. I thought of them going out, but it's not a fanfic about them, and to be honest, they're cute, but this story is about my favorite ship, which is Natasha and Loki.**

**Besides, the idea of Loki hijacking Natasha and Clint's rendezvous is hilarious. Loki getting totally wasted was a necessary touch, I feel...he's been having a difficult time lately. **

**Anyway, in the next chapter or so, Natasha and Loki's flirtation and friendship (they're denying it, sadly), will pick back up, and then slowly unravel to a romance.**

**I'm excited to write this!**

**I cannot believe that we're on chapter ten! This is the longest chapter I've ever written. **

**Anyways, thank you as usual for the follows, and favorites. And a special thank you to Mic-RNOl-Mik for the lovely review! :)**

**OH, AND IMPORTANT: I have revised chapter four, because I didn't like one scene.**

**I love love love reviews, so any, whether they be sweet or bitter, are welcome!**

**Love you all!**

**xoxo**


	11. Friends will be Friends

Loki felt a ridged, hard object pressing firmly into his knee, sliding downwards by a mere millimeter, due to the involuntary tremors of his leg. Natasha's teeth were gritted to the point where she felt as if her bicuspids would be ground to a fine powder. Her jaw muscles ached with a pressing desire for release.

The gun that she was currently holding precariously to his knee was hidden by the drooping table cloth sprawled over the table, which dutifully concealed her threat.

They said nothing to each other, but solidified an unbreakable gaze, peering into the inky depths of one another's pupils, as if they were a gateway to the soul. Messages were exchanged between the two without a single word uttered. Loki then detached his upper lip from the curve of his lower, breathing in deeply, prepared to unleash a verbal torrent that would coerce her into releasing the weapon. As she raised her eyebrow in a subtle fashion, they both heard a warm voice slither into the vacuous spaces of their mute conversation.

"Hi! What would you like to order?" the waiter hummed, the point of his pen pressed into his notepad, ready to collect their orders.

"The sea urchin uni and yellowtail platter, with a side of brown rice and egg rolls. To drink, I would love Absolut," Natasha said, her lips spreading into a welcoming smile, which was quite the paradox to her surreptitious actions beneath the tablecloth.

"I would like…the tuna magaro, and octopus tako. For a drink, I'd like absinthe, on the rocks, please," Loki chimed in, his eyes drifting from Natasha's for a trice.

The waiter voiced his thanks, and then collected the menus. As he walked away, Natasha turned back to her duty with Loki.

"You know what my next question is going to be, don't you?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, drinking in the inevitability of Loki's changing expression.

"Of course. It does not mean I shall answer it," Loki chuckled, clasping his hands together on the table.

Natasha ground the tip of the gun with more force into Loki's knee, which did not provoke even a soupcon of a wince from his part.

"Would you really pull the trigger?" he purred. "Not only would you make an unfortunate scene, but, I have the fair feeling that Thor would-"

"Don't pull that card on me," Natasha interrupted, her eyes unwavering. "Because, one, I do not give a single fuck if I cause a scene. _You _are a war criminal, that has become well acquainted with the New York City police department. It wouldn't matter that I initiated the violence, because all fingers would immediately point at you. Two, Thor has been fed up with your behavior, and as long as I don't kill you, I'm sure that he wouldn't shed too many tears."

"Well-" Loki started, but Natasha cut him off once more.

"I have no goddamn problem with blowing your knee-cap sky high, I swear to-"

"Clint is unharmed," Loki snapped, his voice much louder than necessary, but, still unheard amongst the droning chatter of the surrounding people.

"Elaborate," Natasha said, growing exceedingly frustrated. "Don't give me this vague-ass shit."

"I did not touch a single hair upon the man's head."

"If so, then why the hell are _you _sitting across from me, and not _him?" _

"It was his desire."

"It was _his desire? _You mean to say, that Clint, who vehemently hates you, ditched our dinner date, in favor for you to replace him?"

"That is correct."

"Do you think I'm retarded?"

In response to Natasha's question, a chorus rang out, shouting, "_Gooooooood Morning! Ba-ba-ba-dum-dum dum. Ah-ha hum! Hum ha-ha." _ Loki was confused where the source of the vulgar noise was emanating from. He then saw Natasha rooting through a miniature handbag with her free hand. She pulled out a memorable Midgardian contraption, and tapped at it with her thumb nail. Her eyes widened considerably, and she immediately squashed the cell phone to her ear.

"What's going on?" she said, matter-of-factly.

"Uh-huh," she then said, her eyes flitting up to meet Loki's. "No…are you fucking serious? Is this some kind of a joke? Why didn't you tell me beforehand at least?" She spat out the questions with fervor, drumming her fingers on the counter-top.

Loki felt the gun barrel slide away from his vulnerable knee, and stretched out his cramped leg. Natasha placed the slick gun into her lap, and resumed her phone conversation. Loki raised his eyebrows, smirking, and immediately knew who she was talking to. The plan had seemed futile at the beginning of the day, but now, the pieces were all falling into place.

"Right. Whatever. Bye," Natasha said, curtly, and slid her phone shut. She dropped it into her purse, pinched the clasp closed, and threw it to the other end of the long seat with reckless abandon. She ran her fingers through her slightly disheveled hair, and focused on bringing her respiratory levels back to normal.

Jesus Christ.

For a moment there, she had thought that Clint had been compromised- _again. _But no, he had called her to say that Fury ordered him to play a twisted sort of matchmaker to reunite Loki and Natasha, as they were long lost lovers.

Natasha thought that was utter and complete bullshit, as she and Loki were not even _friends_ in any way, shape, or form. They went through one mission, which was successful (surprisingly), but ended in such an unpleasant way, that Natasha couldn't help but think of Loki with umbrage.

Anyway, Clint did not sound remotely angry over the phone, which was odd, considering his fragile relationship with the fallen god. Instead, he had been nonchalant, as though he was ordering a pizza, and asking Natasha what toppings she'd like. She had to get to the bottom of this, as everyone was acting oddly around her, and now, Clint was too.

The waiter popped by again at this time, and plopped their drinks down in front of them. Natasha immediately pressed her lips to the top of the straw dipped in the drink, and took a hearty sip, feeling relinquished with the familiar buzz of alcohol.

"Natasha," Loki said, prompting her to spare him a passing glance.

"What?" she asked, focused on swirling the straw around the tinkering ice-cubes.

"I assume that you were talking to, ah, Clint Barton?"

"That's right."

"I wanted to talk to you."

"You could've just invited me out, like a normal person would do."

"Ahh," Loki grinned, resting his elbows on the table, and scooting closer in proximity to Natasha's face. "I know that if I did, you would have pulled out that unfortunate lever on your watch, and attempted to numb my senses once more. I felt as if this was the only way."

Natasha sighed, and pushed her drink off to the side. "What do you even want from me, Loki? What could I possibly offer you?"

Loki was silent for a moment, tracing the rim of his glass. He then said, "You're a balm to soothe fresh wounds. You would appear as a…friend."

At _'friend' _, Natasha's head shot up, and she roamed Loki's face with tentative eyes, peering intensively for any signs of deceit.

"I'll explain. You see, I have nothing to preoccupy myself with on this abysmal planet. I have no purpose anymore. That has been taken brutally away from me, not only by your friends, but, by the false family I have left behind. Thor expects me to cling on to his shirt, and mime his every move, as though I'm an admiring child by his mother's side. I cannot stand that. I know he only keeps watch on me for Odin's sake. I am the unnecessary burden for the royal Asgard family."

He swallowed, and continued, "Although you may have gained the upper hand in the floating fortress in the sky, although you are volatile at times, quick to incinerate, you do not anger me as much as the other human beings on this planet. Your past intrigues me, your present does as well…if you were given a position of supreme power, you could change the vulnerability of your planet."

"Are you using me to gain your powers back? To turn me into your sycophant, to transact orders for you, like how Clint and Selvig were forced to do? It doesn't make sense, Loki."

"I have no purpose for that anymore. My feat was in vain, and now-"

"And now, you're meddling in _my _affairs, because you think it's fun."

Loki slammed his fist down on the table, causing the glasses on the surface to shake violently, threatening to spill over. "Damn it, woman, why can you not see that I am being sincere? I have practically bled my emotions all over this table, all for you to see and shred apart."

"Why would you want me to do that to you? Meddling in affairs and emotions are things that should be done when they're needed, _not _on a daily basis. And, Loki… you really think I'd accept you with open arms after what you said about Anna?"

Loki's eyes shifted, and he licked his lips, in what appeared to be an act of nervousness, but, for him, in a different way. "I am sorry for what I said about Anna. I simply wanted a reaction from you."

"See, that's why I can't associate myself with people like you, Loki," Natasha pointed out. "You thrive on making people miserable."

"I do not. I thrive on making mischief, to wear thin peoples' patience. Maybe once I yearned to create misery, but, that has been forsaken."

Again, the waiter broke through the permeable bubble that surrounded them, and carefully placed their sushi on the table. Natasha immediately dug in, lifting a piece of sushi with her chopsticks.

Loki watched her dissect her food in a sort of annoyed fascination. He had basically laid his heart out on the line, something that only fools did, that only cowards dared breach. He was the God of Lies, weaver of the complex, and Natasha was the corresponding goddess. It disturbed him greatly that she was angry with him over something that did not happen, that was fabricated by the people who trained her to be like this. It was a life that Loki wanted to learn more about, he wanted to scrape away the layers that enveloped her, and peer into the vast library of her brain. He'd crack open every book, every page to comprehend what had been done to her, and why.

Unfortunately, now was not the time to invade her thoughts, as she was endlessly devoted to the mélange of colorful food that had been brought before her.

His own food was left neglected, a gelatinous blob of burnt orange splayed on a bed of sticky rice, which seemed attractive in the titular sense, but not aesthetically. He picked at it with two slender wooden sticks that the waiter fished out from his pocket. It was some sort of utensil that he had never seen before, and he was unsure of how to exactly use it. He struggled to maintain hold on one of the pieces of fish, as it was slippery, but finally managed to do so. He gingerly took a nip of the dark, rose colored wave, rolling the squishy bit around his mouth, his taste-buds unsure whether or not they appreciated the novice morsel. On the plate was a globe of yellow-green paste, which had partly smeared on a piece of sushi leaning against it. He lifted the entire thing with the sticks and positioned it by his mouth, preparing to swallow it whole.

"Umm, Loki-" Natasha started, staring at the green substance smeared on the chopstick.

"Yes?" He said, with a slight tint of animosity.

"Never mind, carry on," she replied, stuffing her mouth with a forkful of rice.

He shrugged, and scraped the substance onto the persimmon ridges of his tongue. It was pasty, and tasted a bit like mustard. Suddenly, he felt the sides of his mouth prickle, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. Natasha looked up to see Loki take on a rather peculiar expression, and then his eyes bulged wide open, dripping with involuntary tears. A red flush swam into his face, and he immediately spat out the revolting blob into a napkin, and he yelled, "What the hell was _that?!" _

Natasha burst out laughing, covering her mouth at Loki's hilarious (and completely expected) reaction to the wasabi. She had considered warning him about the potency of the stuff, but decided to stoop to a lower level to revel in his outrageous expression.

Loki grasped his drinking glass with a desperate hand, tipping his head back. Unfortunately, one solitary drop slid down his screaming throat, and he slammed it back on the table. Natasha's glass was half-full, and so, he reached for it, but Natasha wrapped her hand around his, truncating his futile effort. She squeezed his fingers tightly, as she shook her head. "No, no, Loki," she laughed, shaking her head.

"Woman, I need a drink _now," _he growled, but all she did was _laugh _at him. The pure nerve. He then decided to play a little game, one that was clouded with filth, but fun, nonetheless. He stroked his thumb against the soft skin of her hand, his long fingers squeezing hers without restraint.

"What are you doing, Loki?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow at him, but not removing her hand from the odd situation.

"Oh, you know," he started, leaning his face towards hers, basking in the awkward glow. He suddenly snatched her drink with his free hand, and poured the contents down his throat, his mouth momentarily soothed of the scorching effects from that dastardly specimen. He detached his hand from hers, smiling.

She slowly clapped her hands, never breaking her gaze with Loki. "Very nice, I'll applaud you for that." She then stood up, stringing the slim handle of her purse within the spaces of her supple fingers.

"Where are you going?!"

"Somewhere."

"If I am correct, don't we have to pay for our meal?" Loki asked, bewildered at Natasha's sudden actions.

"Well yeah, I just have to use the bathroom. I'll be right back," she said, and sauntered out of the area.

He leaned back, and sighed, his mouth still partially on fire, and his being weary from the constant hostile interactions with the little spider. His apology for blurting that statement about Anna might as well have been left unsaid, as it had absolutely no effect on Natasha whatsoever. He did not know why he even bothered to appeal to her senses, to smooth out the infractions he had created. It would be all in vain. Women in general were of the difficult sort, as he had learned back in Asgard. To scorn a woman was as easy as snapping your fingers. Just one slightly menacing comment, and all of a sudden, you'd face the full-blown wrath of her, who would put a dragon's fiery breath to shame.

Loki looked around, peering for any sight of Natasha. Shouldn't she be back by now? Exactly how long did it take for her to use the bathroom?!

After an excruciating amount of time, he realized that she, in Midgardian terms, had 'ditched him.' That woman... He pushed himself away from the table, prepared to find her and let her know _exactly _what he thought of her blatant disrespect. However, he was caught by the blasted waiter, who stopped him in his tracks.

"Yes?" Loki snapped, narrowing his eyes at the idiotic mortal, who wore a simper on his moronic, pink face.

"Would you like the check now?"

"The check?"

"Yes..." the waiter said, looking at Loki oddly. "Your friend left here, and said you'd be taking care of it." He grimaced slightly, feeling badly for Loki, who he assumed was ditched by his date.

Oh, no. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Loki suddenly hated Natasha for placing him in his predicament. How DARE she. He'd show her, even though he didn't have his powers, he'd pound her to a bloody pulp.

"Very well then," Loki said stiffly, wincing internally at the forced tone of his voice.

He swung back into the booth seat, and rummaged through his pockets to see if he had any change. He pulled out a hundred dollar banknote, and sighed with relief, the tension in his shoulders sagging. He had been tricked once more by the spider, but, he took satisfaction in the fact that he knew something about her, that she did not remember. That knowledge calmed the insatiable beast inside of him, that longed to tear through Natasha's flesh, like the flimsiest of papers. The waiter brought the check, which ended up being $80.00. He had a surplus amount, and would have to wait more for the waiter to bring the money back. Loki however, decided that while the fellow did not deserve the tip in any way, he was in too much of a hurry. He folded the hundred dollar bill into four quadrants, and tucked it into the translucent pocket in the checkbook. Standing up, he smoothed out a microscopic wrinkle in his ebony suit, and strut out of the place, his head held high.

He waved a farewell to the blushing receptionist, who glowed with happiness when he acknowledged her existence. _Mortals, _he thought, sinisterly. As he approached the rectangular box that contained the exit, he noticed that a downpour had begun, and streams of rain trickled down the double doors that lead to the exit. He hoped Natasha had found a taxi, as walking home in the thundering spats of ice-cold rain was never a good time. As he stepped outside, he noticed a couple squeezed under an umbrella, peering outwards for a sign of a taxi. Looking around, he noticed a small figure balancing on the crooked line of the curb, rocking back and forth on unstable feet. Could it be…

No, no, it wasn't her. On closer inspection, it was actually a man with a scruffy beard, who had quite the girlish behind.

Awkward.

Loki was assaulted by choleric waves of stinging rain, which shot into his exposed face, and glued his dark hair to his neck. His shoes soon filled with water, which produced a quite unpleasant sensation within his feet, which were clad in itchy socks. He began to walk, wishing he had an umbrella, or a taxi, or _anything _at all. This was misery. He was a _prince. _To be caught in this torrential downpour like some meager peasant was downright insulting, and he internally cursed Natasha for leaving him in this state. He cursed Odin for banishing him to this mercurial planet, and he cursed Thor for trying to glue him with Natasha, who could have been reassuring in this time, but was ultimately just like the rest of her moronic friends.

Down the street was a cafe with a scarlet overhang, and he saw a familiar shadow pass underneath it, and start in his direction. No, no it couldn't be...

She was probably long gone, back in the predominant safety of Stark Towers, bundled in a cumbersome wool blanket, sipping a flask of hot tea...

_"LOKI."_

Loki could have swore that he heard his name, but immediately shoved that thought aside. The bitter cold, induced by the rain, had coated his vulnerable bones, and his teeth were chattering so violently he thought they'd break.

"_LOKI."_

The voice was increasingly louder, and Loki suddenly knew that it could not be a figment of his imagination. The figurine, huddled, crouched over, masked in the blinding darkness of night, was running towards him, faster. He slowed and stopped, the rain forcing his eyes to almost close, blinking at the torment of the water leaking into his eyes.

The figure became clearer now.

It was Natasha, and she came into his focus. She stopped in front of him, panting slightly, dangling her high heels in one hand. Her dampened face, sticky with melting remnants of dissolving makeup, was impassive. He stared at her, incredulous. Was she just as insane as he was? His now stringy hair tangled with his eyelashes, and he shoved it to the side.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, gesturing with his hand to show the blinding fury of the weather.

She shrugged. "I felt bad."

"You didn't seem to feel that way when you left me to cover the bill back there!" He shouted.

"I was angry, you were being an ass!"

"I was NOT being an ass! I was attempting to be on the charismatic side, actually!"

"Well, you failed," she lied.

"If I failed, then why the hell are you running through the rain like some brain-dead quim?!"

"I wasn't sure if you could pay the bill," she admitted. "Two wrongs don't make a right."

"Oh...well, then why are your shoes off?" He said, pointing out that.

"I tripped running back here," she confessed, her cheeks awash in violet.

"I truly am sorry for what I said about your sister," he blurted.

Natasha stopped rocking on the balls of her feet, and stood still.

"It was uncalled for," he continued, "You have a right to be angry, but, apologies have never been my strong suit. I say irritating things, insulting things...it's my nature. It's no excuse."

"That's all you needed to say," Natasha said, turning back to face him. A drop of water dangled from his earlobe, and then dissolved into his saturated suit jacket.

He looked down at the ground, unexpectedly pleased at her response. But then he said, "I did apologize to you in the restaurant."

"I wasn't buying it. I've thought about all that you've said. And, yes, what you said was horrible, and sometimes I wonder if you even have a pinch of empathy for anybody." To add to the effect, she made a pinching motion with her index finger and thumb. "But I've never heard you say sorry for anything you've done sincerely. To finally hear it…it almost seems like you regret what you said."

"I _do _regret what I said," he argued. "You're the only companion I have on this planet."

She was silent for a mere second, and then said, "Your company is nice when you're not being an asshole."

That was the extent of their expressed sentiments towards each other, and they almost instantly felt awkward. Loki let out a blip of nervous laughter, which made Natasha laugh as well.

"Y'know, this isn't the best place to have a conversation," she laughed, pointing out the obvious. They probably both had fetched colds, from their prolonged conversation in the rain, which would have been better held in a considerably drier place.

"Good point," Loki said, "Should we wait under that overhang for a taxi?"

"Nah, I'm too impatient. We're already drenched, so let's just walk back. It isn't far."

Loki agreed, and they walked off together, sloshing through the various puddles gracing the surface of the cracked sidewalk.

* * *

~Four hours earlier~

Loki had felt a sort of mad surge coursing through his body on a daily basis, much like the recurring sexual frustration of a teenager, but ten times in its severity. His world revolved around meddling with affairs, and tinkering with their inner dynamics, until each party involved reached their quota. Since he had arrived on Midgard, he had been forced to a theatrical level of subjugation, obeying whatever the blasted Avengers told him to do, and 'behaving' to a certain extent. Of course, mental breakdowns were his signature, and his slight one the past night was an example of that. Luckily, only Thor had fetched him from the toilet he had marked as his resting place earlier, and no one else. Thor did not mention whether or not he had company, and Loki took it to safely assume that he was telling the truth. After all, if another person had witnessed his tragic stance in the bathroom, he would surely not ever hear the end of it, but since the Avengers were dutifully silent, he was reassured.

Anyway, Loki _had _been searching of an idea for some sort of bland amusement…and when he had heard about the little date between the spider and her avian companion, he wanted nothing more than to mess with the evening, seeing as Natasha and Clint's relationship was a sore subject.

Earlier in the day, Thor had told Loki that he should make 'amends' with Natasha, and actually escorted him to her doorway, standing with crossed arms, nodding at Loki to take the step and apologize to her, although that was not Loki's forte. He eventually assented, and was surprised to find that the door was unlocked- odd, especially due to Natasha's nature.

Loki closed the door on his brother, saying that he wanted some privacy, as public declarations weren't his style. Thor agreed, walking away, but warning that he'd be waiting down the hallway in case Loki decided to make an escape.

Loki perused the bedroom, noting a lump in the chiffon blankets, and traipsed over to the bed, where he gently prodded the lump with a finger, hoping to initiate a fearful reaction from Natasha. However, all he encountered was a sinking, soft feeling- way too soft to be a human, and Loki tore open the bed sheet, revealing a misleading pillow. He then turned around, and saw steam wafting from beneath a different doorway, one that must lead to the bathroom. The little spider must be taking a shower. The thought of that played out several fantasies in Loki's head, and he managed to shut them down quickly, shaking his head, and pressing his fingers to the sides of his nose.

After readjusting the bed-sheets, he turned away, meaning to return at a later hour, but a rectangular metal device resting on-top of a mahogany dresser in the room caught his eye. He picked up the contraption, and it flashed on, revealing the time written in a blinding ivory color, with a picture of an orange flower set as the background.

_A cell-phone, _Loki thought, remembering the Midgardian term for the contraption. As he was staring at the screen in a blank sort of fascination, a small box popped up, that read:

_New Text_

_ View Now View Later_

Loki scrunched his eyebrows, and looked up at the bathroom door. He could still hear the hiss from the shower, meaning that she was still preoccupied with cleansing. He had time, and, his curiosity could not be contained. As he hit '_view now'_ with his thumb, the message was revealed, from none other than Clint Barton.

_More than excited for sushi tonight!_

He rolled his eyes, but before he could do anything else, the phone made another annoying '_ping' _sound once more. This time, the new incoming message read,

_Dude, Stark has a ping-pong table thing on floor 7, want 2 join? _

Loki smirked, adopting a new plan. He suddenly heard the tap shut off in the bathroom, and the sound of a door slamming shut.

Fuck.

He quickly set the phone down on the counter-top, and accidentally dropped it into the jutting, open drawer in the dresser.

The blow-dryer screeched on in the opposite room, and Loki assumed that he had approximately ten seconds to get the rest of his snooping done. As he picked the phone up, the incoming message was still flashing. A button on the side read: _delete. _He tapped it, and immediately, a small trashcan icon popped up, swallowing a miniscule envelope. The screen then flashed '_message deleted.' _ He decided to erase the other text message as well, and managed to do so. He felt a small amount of pride for managing to triumph over this strange Midgardian gadget. But hey, if his bumbling brute of a brother could do it, so could he.

He then fled the room, turning the doorknob carefully, as to make as little sound as possible when closing it. Thor was still waiting at the other end of the hallway, his head tilted up, studying the ceiling. He didn't notice Loki until he was right next to him, poking his shoulder.

"Ahh! Loki!" Thor said, a bit put off-guard.

"Ahh! Thor!" Loki smirked, mocking his brother's shocked statement.

"Did you manage to talk to Lady Natasha?" Thor asked, yawning.

"No," Loki answered honestly. "She was taking a shower, I believe. I left because I did not want to disturb her."

"Well, brother," Thor chuckled, "It appears as though you have some gentlemanly qualities after all."

"It has nothing to do with being a gentleman," he said, "I simply did not want to wait. I have no patience."

"You mean the fact that she was un-robed, and would have been quite frightened of your intruding presence, does not irk you in any way?" Thor asked, incredulous.

Loki shrugged. In truth, he would not want to impose on her privacy in that way, no matter how succulent she may seem…

He shook his head to clear himself of those perverse thoughts. But, he quite enjoyed messing with Thor in this way, provoking some sort of reaction from him…

"I cannot believe you brother," Thor said, not even bothering to look at Loki.

"I wish to head back to my room," Loki sneered, tired of Thor's company.

"By all means, go," Thor replied, waving his hand at Loki.

Loki quickly departed. But, instead of making his way back to the solitude of his room, he decided to pay a visit to the seventh floor.

That floor appeared strictly to be some sort of gaming area, Loki noticed. Boxes molded into strange geometric shapes flashed 'Press coin to play' from the clear screens that were embedded into the front of each of the strange devices. A glowing sign from above read, 'Arcade.' The room was dark, illuminated only by the revolving lights projecting from the odd objects. Loki saw a vanilla colored door at the opposite side of the room, and walked over to open it.

As soon as he did, he saw a tennis court, but, reduced to three times its size, and stood up on four straight legs. As he looked into the room, he saw Hawkeye facing the globe-shaped window in the room, looking intently at something Loki could not see. He shut the door loudly, attracting Clint's attention right away.

"Oh, hey, Tash-" Clint's word were cut off when he realized that the tall, lean man propped against the door, smirking, was not his beloved friend, but one of his despised enemies.

"I am most definitely not _Tasha," _Loki chuckled, shaking his head at Clint.

"What the HELL are you doing here!" Clint yelled, his arm reaching behind him to make sure he had his stock of freshly-sharpened arrows.

"Ah, ah, don't do that," Loki said, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. "That wouldn't be right. I am not armed."

"Oh, really," Clint snapped.

"If I was armed, I would have shot you long ago," Loki pointed out.

"Where's Natasha?"

"In her room?" Loki guessed, furrowing his brow.

Clint sighed. "Why are you even here? I doubt that you came down here to play a game of ping-pong."

"You've got that right," Loki said, smiling.

"You know…" said Clint, stepping forward, "What did you do to Natasha over the trip that has made her this pissed off? I mean, hell, you're not exactly the funnest guy to be around, but getting her truly riled up is pretty hard, unless you know the right buttons to push."

"Well, apparently I did know the right buttons to push, then," Loki said, resting his palms on one of the ping-pong tables.

"What did you say to her?" Clint asked, his voice dropping to a baritone.

"I made a simple comment that referred to when she brutally murdered her sister," Loki said, embellishing just a tad.

To Loki's surprise, Clint just looked baffled, and he squinted at Loki. "Uh…are you high?"

Loki tilted his head a bit to the side, staring presumptuously at the odd human. "Well, not really, there are what, thirty floors in the building, and we are only on level seven," he reasoned.

"Well…" Clint rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes shifting upwards. He finally looked up at Loki, his lips pursed. "If this is some kind of joke, if you made up some random shit about some dead bitch just to get Natasha heated up-"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're babbling about," Loki interrupted, fuming internally at the mortal's everlasting charade.

Clint was about ready to seep the serrated edge of an arrow into Loki's iris, but, he took a moment to let Loki's words sink in. He realized that he would have to clarify exactly what was going on, as to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings. "Explain to me what exactly Natasha told you," Clint demanded.

"She gave me quite a murky account about the death of her sister, who was named Anna. She said that she was involved in some sort of hospital fire, and that she went to go save her sister, she ended up dropping her down a fire escape due to a serum change?" When Loki was finished speaking, he realized that the flow of his sentences were strewn all over the place, and the actual story was not very coherent.

"Loki…" Clint said, rubbing his temples, now trying to rid himself of the impending migraine. The story did not ring a single bell in his mind, and he realized, with inevitable sorrow, just how badly the Red Room messed with the fine wires of Natasha's mind. Clint stepped forward, once, and met Loki's eyes, which were brimming with curiosity.

Finally, Clint spoke. "Loki…" he said, quietly,

"Natasha doesn't have a sister."

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Whoa. I originally thought of posting the segment of Loki discovering that Natasha doesn't have a sister at the beginning of the chapter, but it sounded better at the end. I did research on the Black Widow when I started this story, so I'm not entirely clueless. We'll be finding out more about the Red Room, Natasha's real memories, the current events in Asgard, and Loki's thoughts in later chapters. **

**Also, it seems that they have slightly acknowledged that they're friends. Yayy. Anyway, I hope it seems plausible. If not, well...that's okay, find another story that suits your taste. This is my longest chapter yet...almost 6,000 words! Eep.**

**Thank you to the following people for reviewing:**

**DarlingDeathMachine (aka Dee-Dee)**

**Rose of Ice**

**Flycon**

**Mic-RNOL-Mik**

**You guys make my day! Thanks to my new followers, and people who favorited this story! You guys make my day.**

**Reviews are always appreciated!**

**Love you all,**

**skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	12. A Dozen Red Roses for my Darling

**Sorry if this chapter is a bit confusing. I'll do my best to explain at the bottom. Enjoy!**

* * *

Luckily, all of the Avengers were dutifully absentee from Stark Towers, as they were still preoccupied with downing as many alcoholic drinks as one could sustain at the local bar. It was a relief for Natasha and Loki that they were alone, as they would have been quite embarrassed to be seen in their current state- sopping wet, and emotionally unstable. Natasha pressed her thumb against the security panel Jarvis offered at the front entrance, and then immediately made her way inside, as the system confirmed it was indeed her, Natasha Romanoff, and not an intruder.

Shivering, she couldn't wait to peel off her dress, which was absolutely saturated with rain water, and clung to her skin like an unwelcome ex-boyfriend. Her dripping hair sent random sploshes of water racing down the back of her spine, causing her shoulders to tense and rise, uncomfortable with the feeling. Scraping her frizzy locks off of her forehead, she turned around to see how Loki was faring.

He cradled a stack of neat folded towels in the crook of his right arm, and he extended them to her. "Look what I found in the bathroom," he said, grinning slightly.

"Perfect," she said, and strode quickly over to him, snatching one of the plush towels, and immediately wrapping her hair in it, turban style. "Where did you find these?"

"Bathroom," he said, pointing over to the side. "Stark has one on every floor, I believe."

"That's convenient," she said, and then pressed her lips together to mute the overbearing sound of her teeth clacking. "I'm kinda cold…so…"

"Well, of course," he said, rolling his eyes. "I cannot suppress my eagerness to return to my quarters."

They barely spoke as they entered the arena of the elevator, too focused on salvaging any sort of body heat, and overwhelmed by the preceding cold that came with rain-induced walks. Natasha bid a quick farewell to Loki once she reached her floor, and he responded as per usual, and then, once out of his sight, she practically ran what felt like a marathon to her door, desperate to tear off her clothes and enter the soothing embrace of a hot shower.

Once in the room, her towel thudded to the floor, and she left it in its sloppy heap, uncaring. As she removed the remainder of her clothes, she quickly hopped into the shower, and turned the dial briskly. At first she was assaulted by a fresh slap of icy cold water, and she almost emitted a shriek. In her haste, she hadn't bothered to wait for the water to warm up. She backed into the corner, guarding herself from the spitting rays of the shower head. Once the flecks of water began to soothe her chilled skin, rather than hiss at it, she stepped fully under the steam, involuntarily groaning at the delectable sensation.

As she lubricated her fingers with violet shampoo, and massaged her aching scalp, her mind drifted to her striking conversations with Loki at Sushi House, and, how she actually had the nerve to submit herself to the power of the weather once again, just because she felt bad for the man who had insulted her so violently before.

She was not a firm believer in second chances, and once people fell out of her good graces, she was quite reluctant to let them back in, if at all. Trust, forgiveness, patience…those were virtues she had never been taught, well, _exposed _to, would be the more eloquent, comprehensive term.

And, _Anna. _Her sister…her reason. She remembered that once, when they were children, they-

A burst of scarlet erupted in front of Natasha's eyes, and a dead-beat rattle of a broken drum echoed throughout her bewildered mind, compensating for misconceptions of the past. Unaware, unsure of what was going on, she pressed her palms to her temples, shocked at the sudden migraine which invaded her once serene mind. What was going on?

Natasha blinked, rubbing stinging soap away from her bloodshot eyes, trying to remember what she had been in deep thought about. She remembered then- Anna. As soon as her mind breached the subject of Anna, a fresh wave of blistering pain scorched her temples, causing a strangled sound to emit from the bottom of Natasha's throat, leaving her grasping for the pale walls of the shower, nails scratching at the slippery plastic. Nausea scraped at the sides of her vulnerable stomach, and the back of her mouth had that taste, that taste she always experienced before vomiting.

What the fuck?

Natasha shut off the tap with one hand, truncating the leering spray of water. Wrenching the shower curtain aside, she stumbled out of the shower, her hand fumbling for her towel. Once she clenched the towel around her quivering frame, her knees failed her, and hit the ground with a '_guh.' _Bending over the toilet, she unhinged her jaw and emptied out the contents of her dinner into the bowl, retching so violently, her eyes filled with harsh tears. After projecting her day's worth of food, she continued vomiting, until splotches of bile appeared.

Trembling, she flushed the toilet, and rinsed her mouth thoroughly. She scrubbed her teeth five times, although that obviously did nothing for the acidic taste residing in her throat. Her stomach panged, and she stood, hunched over, breathing hard.

What the hell was that?!

To say she was confused wasn't even the gist of it. As she pulled on clothes, she tried to recount why her body had spazzed out on her like that- it hadn't- since…

The Red Room.

The mere thought of the organization clenched Natasha's stomach once again, and she shut her eyes once more, willing herself to breathe in and out, a steady, familiar rhythm…

Why was she losing it all of a sudden?

She propped herself on the edge of her bed, combing her tangled hair with her fingers, to occupy herself with something while her mind raced.

_The Red Room. The Hospital Fire. Sao Paulo. Her mother. Petrovitch. Anna…_

Yes, yes, there was Anna…but why, why couldn't Natasha bring up a mental image of her? Of the beautiful girl with the ornate eyes, and tawny hair…

It was simply a shadow. A shadow of a life…a life she lost. But to whom? The memory she always kept in mind of Anna, the familiar childhood one, that had to do with dolls and picnics, tea and biscuits, diamonds and lipstick, love, and they missed it. It was beautiful. They were beautiful…

_Dollenka…_

Oh, Anna. The sister that Natasha took ballet with, the two dancing ballerinas, with dress made of tulle, and shoes made of silk. They were the best ballerinas in their studio…

As Natasha sank herself into the confines of her bed, her arms splayed to the side, she let her mind drift to the loveliest memory she had of Anna…the loss of which threatened tears to leak out of Natasha's unwilling ducts. She closed her eyes then, and let the lullaby of sleep carry her away.

* * *

_And…next in our festivities…_

_Natalia and Anna Romanova!_

The two girls, hidden in the wisp of a chiffon curtain, perused the patient crowd with nervous eyes, anticipating whirling in the air like the beautiful ballerinas in plays they attended as children, but nervous that a lace from their shoe would loosen, and they'd fall like a bird shot from the sky. But, at that very moment, their worries and doubts faded, and they found themselves emerging shyly, but gaining confidence with each sweep of the toe.

Natasha and Anna stopped smack dab in the middle of the stage, their hands clasped behind their backs, and their ankles crisscrossed. The familiar sequence of music begun, and they simultaneously tapped their toes on the stage floor, closing their eyes, waiting for the musical cue to begin.

At the '_bum ba bum" _they took a seemingly tentative step, and then lept gracefully into the air. They landed softly, on one foot, and twirled with a leg outstretched, arms in a halo. The crowd's roar invigorated them, and set their pink dresses on fire in the limelight.

Roses were tossed onto the stage, and an unexpected breeze swept the room, knocking the petals against the girls' stocking clad legs, their perfume sighing, hidden by the pompous claps of the grandiloquent crowd, immensely proud of the two young talented girls from Stalingrad, breathing beauty into the heart of Moscow…

As the performance ended, the children, Natalia and Anna curtsied once more, spines erect, sweat glistening on their beaming faces.

It was all about the dance.

* * *

~ 4 years later~

"I don't want to do it," Natasha whined, slumping into the singular chair placed in the dressing room.

"Why? You love dancing," Anna reasoned, rubbing her sister's back.

"For myself, not for others," Natasha grumbled, and wiped away a path of glitter smeared beneath her eye. "I don't even think I'm ready."

"We've danced together since we were four, Natalia, I think we can do this one."

"I don't care."

Anna sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. "You're so hardheaded, you know that?"

"So I've been told," Natasha said.

"Each black widow has their talent," Anna said. "Tonight's your night to show it."

"I don't want to be a black widow," Natasha said, spinning around in the chair.

Anna snatched the chair firmly, curtailing its rapid movement, and then grabbed Natasha's biceps, hard. She leaned her face in very close to Natasha's, so close that their noses touched, and she could see the slight glint of perspiration in her sister's tear ducts. "Don't ever say that. Do. Not. Ever. Say. That."

Natasha's eyes ran side to side, swiping Anna's face, breathing hard.

"You want to get us _killed_?!" Anna furiously whispered, "Your idiotic statements make it seem like you do. Black widows don't question their duty. Do you remember the last one that did?"

Natasha studied a bloodied cuticle on her thumb.

Anna shook Natasha firmly, jolting her lethargic position into a steadier one.

"DO YOU?!" Anna practically screamed, her voice rising higher than necessary.

"I remember," Natasha replied, shaken by her sister's sudden outburst.

"Good," Anna said, releasing her tight hold on Natasha. "Good."

* * *

~ 2 years later~

"Your sequins are coming undone," Mme. Katya said, clicking her teeth at the disparaging state of Natasha's dress.

"No they're not," Natasha argued, but as soon as she took a deep breath, more ruby sequins detached from her dress and fluttered to the floor.

Mme. Katya raised an eyebrow, and gestured to the growing heap of speckled sequins upon the floor. She placed a pin in her mouth, and turned Natasha around, so she could fix the silk ribbon woven into the ties, that had begun to fray, and consequently, were showing a small oval of Natasha's skin.

Mme. Katya pinned the open spot closed. She would have preferred to sew the torn piece, but Natasha was due on stage in about one minute, so this quick fix would have to do. She unraveled a foot of scarlet ribbon from the roll, and snapped it away with lethally sharp scissors. She wove the ribbon through the gilded rings in the back of the dress, tying them tightly, and concealing the pinned region of her dress.

"_And next…Natalia Romanova!"_

"Looks like you're up," Mme. Katya said, and nodded at Natasha, whose nostrils were slightly flared, and whose chest was heaving. "You'll ace this, I promise."

The curtain opened.

* * *

~ 6 years later~

_I just wanted to speak to you, about a preposition, one…_

_NO. NO. It wasn't like that, I swear, I promise, this will-_

_No, please hear me,_

_Okay-_

_Watch her dance, I promise you, that-_

_Roll the tapes._

Natasha resided in the center of the stage once more, her presence dominating the dusky room; the only light was broadcasted on her, illuminating her skin with an eerie glow.

"_Dance for us…"_

And she did. She danced for herself, mainly, as it had grown to be a thing she cherished, and although she heard that her dances, and her fluid limbs curving ellipses into the superficial dust of the stage were 'perfect', she never held that in regard. Nothing could be truly 'perfect.' With every routine she concluded, she never felt satiated, and thrust herself in the perilous throes of practice every day, only stopping when her heart was nearing the point of no return.

After every practice, she'd untie the multitude of ribbons binding her feet, and then unravel the various bandages hugging her toes, that were always, always soaked in blood. The pain was irrelevant to her now, but in the beginning stages, it irked her irrevocably, although she did not complain.

It just wasn't in her nature.

After much teeth gritting, and hair pulling, and gem colored tablets, the stabbing sensations receded, and she bore those callouses and blisters with pride, and almost welcomed the subtle ache.

In this routine, she was performing for a visitor of the Red Room, who wanted to see her talent. The various girls in the black widow program each had their own 'talent' or 'hobby' (they usually went hand in hand), in order to have a cover up for their authentic task, which was ultimately, serving and protecting the Red Room. That was what the girls heard every morning when they rubbed sleep from their swollen eyes, and before their faces sunk into the grainy pillows at night. The 'serve and protect' notion was more or less a euphemism for 'assassin', but no one challenged the authority, or dared to reveal what the entire business actually was.

Natasha exacted a swift pirouette, and then spun, her spine arched, and her head tilted back, enunciating the sharp bone that was her throat. She finished her routine, and bowed deeply, her right arm wrapped around her stomach, and her hand resting on her left ribcage. She heard soft murmurs, which radiated into the proverbial, polite applause that occurred after each dance, which always accumulated into the familiar smack of palm against palm duo.

As she scanned the sparse crowd, she was sucked into the baneful, shaded gaze of a man whose face was ellipsed by a shadow sliced into his face by the weak lighting, and his personal choice of a noir monochromatic color scheme.

A shudder coursed down her spine, and she broke away from the leering gaze of the clandestine man. Whoever he was, he had no right to make her feel uncomfortable on her own stage.

Natasha walked down the narrow alley attached to her dressing room, lugging her duffel bag along with her, where there was a bulbous water fountain spouting ice cold water. After each performance, she felt as if she was nearly dehydrated. After wandering into the solicited section of the ballet studio, she breached the water fountain, which was illuminated by a single light on the wall. As she pressed the knob, and bent her lips down to the thin stream of water, a voice slithered through the area, causing her to almost choke.

"Natalia Romanova…your performance tonight was quite lovely, if I may say so myself."

Natasha raised her head to meet the sunken eyes of a tall, unrecognizable man, with groomed sideburns, and brown hair, streaked with gray. He wore a formal dress suit, and he had one hand hidden behind his back. He produced a single rose with a flourish.

"Who are you?" she asked, staring at the elder. She stood up straight, like her dance teacher always told her to, and tilted her chin upwards.

"My name is Ivan Petrovitch. You _must _remember me, Natalia. I simply desired to see the extraordinary woman who has gifted us with such beauty tonight," he murmured, and extended the brilliantly sculpted rose towards Natasha, whose tentative petals appeared to wink at her. She grasped the rose by the stem, and yelped, as one of the prickly thorns pierced her skin.

"Ahh, ahh, careful now. Every rose has its thorns," he chuckled.

"Thanks for the rose…I still don't know who you are," she said, tucking the rose carefully

"Didn't I just tell you my name?"

"Yes. But a name's just a name. I don't know you personally."

"The world has grown to be impersonal…I say it doesn't matter."

"Well, I say it does," she argued, crossing her arms.

He chuckled once more, shaking his head. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I simply wanted to visit my old friend."

"Who is that?"

"You, of course, silly."

"One doesn't tend to forget those close to their heart. If you're an old friend of mine, why is it that your name produces a blank image in my mind, rather than a concrete memory?"

"Funny," he laughed, "That you choose to label your memories as 'concrete.'"

"I didn't," she replied, dryly, "My memories are far from lucid. I can recognize familiar faces and figures amongst the sea of people lodged in my brain, but you…I can't remember you."

"Oh," he chuckled, "Oh, oh, oh."

She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to finish his sudden bout of laughter.

"How can you forget the man who saved your life?" he growled, lunging forward.

Natasha stumbled backwards, a seed of terror planted in her heart.

"Come, let me invigorate you," he purred, moving ever so closer to her, "I'll take you out to dinner. Help you…_relinquish your senses."_

"I have an appointment I'm late to, so I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check," she said coldly.

"That just won't do," he sighed. "I simply wanted to talk to you."

"And you did, so I hope that satiates your strange need," Natasha retorted, her foot swiveling in preparation to depart.

"You don't leave, _bitch,_" he snapped, and leapt at her, his hands outstretched. Natasha gulped down a pitchy scream that threatened to erupt, and began running down the dimly lit corridor, which elapsed into a blinding dark, that swallowed Ivan's figure, although she could still hear the echo of his heeled shoes clacking against the waxed floor. As she scrambled along, she outstretched her hands, and felt the familiar twist of a doorknob. Excited, she wrenched it open, and was blasted with a refreshing wave of cold air, signaling that she made it outside. As she placed one foot forward, she suddenly felt a calloused hand grip the laced cords of her corset in the back of her dress, tugging her back sharply. She kept her hold on the knob of the door, transforming the marble skin that stretched across her palm into a blushing violet, blistering, slipping.

"You will never win," he snarled, tugging her back sharply, which ended up dislocating her shoulder.

Her screams shattered the serenity of the night.

* * *

Natasha sprung awake, gasping, clutching the cool sheets for support. A ballerina? She hadn't had those dreams in a while, of her times as a dancer…

Her feet had unconsciously began to ache once more. She flung open the door of her bedroom, and headed out.

* * *

Loki had cocooned himself in an amalgam of blankets, and was currently occupied with reading _Macbeth, _a well-written tale that was intertwined with woe, flawed ambition, and the never ending thirst for power. He tended to have disdain towards all things Midgardian, but, he had heard of this Shakespeare fellow, and found that his works rather appealed to his taste.

"_Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood_

_Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather_

_The multitudinous seas incarnadine…"_

Of course, as Loki did with most books he read, he related himself to Macbeth's character. The amount of blood Loki had shed perhaps would never be cleansed from his hands, as Natasha's ledger perhaps would never be swept of the blood that inked every page.

It was a confusing, infuriating thing to think about. He had felt scorned, and humiliated as she left him in the restaurant, but her distressed state in the pouring rain had almost placed a smile on his face, although that would warrant a brisk slap from her. His apology was genuine, in a way. He felt odd, because not only was he lying to Natasha, but he was lying to himself as well. It felt odd to apologize for an infraction against a person who did not exist, or a person who didn't hold much of a sentimental value to her.

After Clint had said that Natasha did not have a sister, Loki immediately began pelting him with a multitude of questions, trying to collect the various pieces of the puzzle. The conversation that ensued was vague, and barely provided Loki with any useful information.

xxx

"She does not have a sister," he had echoed, his eyes shifting from Clint's face to the ground, frustrated that he had bought into the delusional lie as well.

"No, she never had a sister," Clint snapped, crossing his legs, and glaring at Loki.

"Can you explain to me why she thinks that, then?" Loki asked. During the time when he had possession of the Tesseract, Clint had told him that the Red Room, the corporation that had corrupted Natasha so intensely, had implemented false memories into her mind, as to ascertain her loyalty to them. He did not go into tremendous detail about that aspect, but proceeded to tell Loki about incidents that were of major significance to her, and what role they played into her future.

"You know why," Clint muttered, narrowing her eyes.

Loki grinned; the mortal wasn't as stupid as he thought. "Well…why can you not describe to me what _really _happened that night in the hospital?"

"It's none of your business," Clint growled, his hands in fists by his sides.

"Oh, is it not? You did not regard that policy with much fondness prior," Loki laughed, quietly, and smirked at Clint's face, which was slowly descending into the color of an overripe plum.

"I didn't have a choice," he snapped. "But I do now. I don't trust you, and I never will. Thor is the biggest idiot in the entire world for bringing you here, and Fury is insane if he thinks you'll ever become one of us."

"Ooh," Loki cooed, his eyes twinkling with an ominous light, "I just feel so hurt." To add emphasis, he clapped one hand against his chest, adopting a mock-wounded expression on his face.

Before Clint could retaliate, Loki had stepped forward in a rash, sudden manner, prompting Clint to attach an arrow to his bow, all the while never breaking his gaze with the capricious God of Mischief.

"Ah, ah," Loki said, holding his hands up. "I thought we already discussed my weapon situation…are you positive that is the best route to go?"

"Just leave."

"Oh, but if I _could," _Loki murmured, tapping his foot against the floor briefly, before continuing, "It's odd, the way you throw yourself out on a porcelain limb for Natasha, it's as if…

you love her."

"As a friend, nothing more. You have no right to make those assumptions!" Clint shouted.

"I sincerely apologize. It was simply a colloquial manifesto of truth," Loki explained, smirking at the human's absurd overreaction.

"You have no right messing with her, what MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN TRY TO UNDERST-"

Loki slapped the silver bow out of Clint's hand, sending it skittering across the paneled floor, and tapping against the wall at the other hand. With a single step, he drove his fist into Clint's stomach, causing him to recoil sharply, and keel to the floor.

Clint wrapped his hand around Loki's ankle, and made a cupping motion, which jarred the bone slightly, but had almost no effect whatsoever.

Loki shook him off, bent down, and hoisted Clint up by his shirt, pinning him against the wall sharply. Clint made a motion as if to kick Loki, but he blocked it smoothly, and said, "Now, I did not want to hurt you, but alas, you chose not to listen. I do not like being submissive to _humans, _a _vile, unworthy, DESPICABLE _race. I have had _enough._ You may think that you have the upper hand on me currently, which pleases you immensely, due to the fact that you were under my control for quite a while. I can understand that. But, you are _still _a puppet, and while you may have cut the strings that I have once dangled, Fury and the remainder of your _precious _organization, Shield, have merely picked up the broken pieces, and taken you as _their _puppet now. There's really no difference."

"Let go of me," Clint grunted, struggling beneath Loki's iron grip.

"I have not finished talking yet," Loki hissed. He skimmed the rim of his bottom lip in contemplation, and then said, "But what I have said earlier, that is not my main point. You left me with a delicious morsel, that's fallen off a slice of a savory cake…you cannot leave me there. You may think I'm trying to corrupt Natasha with my dark morals, but, but my friend, it is the opposite. You see, I went through Hel to gain life back, and to maintain the staff, powered by the Tesseract. And once I was returned to Asgard, with the effects ebbing, false memories implemented by the Other flooded into my mind. Some are quite tangible, and come at their own pace, and some creep into my dreams, or rather I say it, _nightmares. _I know Natasha was corrupted once too…I know she tosses and turns at night, begging for an ounce of undisturbed sleep, but she doesn't get it!"

Clint swallowed, his eyes fastened shut. "Let me down. I'll tell you what you need to know."

Loki relinquished his grip, and the archer propped himself up from the floor. "Natasha never had a sister. The Red Room had an operation of fourteen girls, all dubbed 'black widow.' Each of these girls were injected with serum, which brainwashed them into believing that the organization they were working for was good. False memories were also implemented into each black widow's mind, in order to ensure their loyalty to the Red Room. Some of Natasha's memories are distorted…the people may be real, but she associates them differently. Some are entirely false, and are events that never happened."

"Like what? What event in specific would be false?"

"Natasha told me that she was eating breakfast with her mother, father, and sister, when Soviet soldiers burst into the room, killed her mother and father, and took her away. But, Natasha's father died before she was born, due to disease. And that's not how she was taken to the Red Room."

"Interesting…" Loki mused. "But, how did she really get taken into the Red Room?"

"I can't tell you that. She'll just have to tell you herself." Clint tensed, prepared for a sudden onslaught by Loki.

"So be it," replied Loki.

"What's your motive?" Clint asked.

"I wish to dispel the false memories of mine as well…"

"You think Natasha can help you with that."

"Perhaps. There's a fighting chance."

"Oh?"

"The Tesseract itself, and the Other made me think and feel things that weren't real," Loki explained. "I'd like to wipe that out."

"I'll give you one chance," Clint said suddenly, glaring at Loki. "One chance. We've all tried to help Natasha, but we all failed. I'm doing this because…I love her, and I want her to sleep at night, and see clearly, and not have to down shots of vodka every night."

Loki grinned. "It is love, then."

"In a platonic way," Clint insisted.

"Thank you for your blessing…I shall aid her to the best of my ability."

Clint narrowed his eyes at Loki, fully aware of his sarcasm, and said, "I swear, if you put one hand on her, I'll-"

"I know, I know, you'll put an arrow in my eye socket," Loki said dryly.

"You know what, how about you go to Sushi House tonight," Clint said, "And apologize to her. I don't see how this will work if she hates you."

"She's still angry about what I said about her sister."

"Apologize, then."

"How can I apologize for someone who didn't even exist?!"

"Aren't you supposed to be extremely _intelligent? _ That's what Thor always says. And you know what supposedly smart people do? They find the goddamn answers on their own."

xxx

Loki, remembering the conversation, felt that he had succeeded in bringing the little spider closer to him. Maybe, just maybe, he could soothe the tempest that ravaged his memories. Of course, maybe the nightmares would never go away, but he'd try. He would try. To redeem himself was something that seemed far beyond his reach, however…

A knock at the door startled him for a split second, but he recalculated his surroundings, and approached the door.

"Who's there?" he called out.

"It's Natasha. I need your help."

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Hellooo everyone. I understand that you may be slightly confused, and I'll try to clear that up. Natasha has random flashbacks that occur in a dream sequence. This was one of them.**

**Anna is not Natasha's sister. She _is _a real person, though, I'll give you that (I mean real as in the story, not in real life). Natasha has been overthinking the whole Anna thing because she spilled to Loki an encounter that meant something to her, although it's quite distorted. There was a hospital fire, but what Natasha thinks happened, and what actually happened are different. So, since she let Loki in on a part of her life, and he insulted her on that part, she has been torturing herself, thinking about Anna, and what she could have done to save her.**

**It's sad.**

**The reason why Natasha had such a bizarre reaction in the shower...will be explained in later chapters. A hint, though: the serum sometimes backfires.**

**The ballerina memories were simply random snippets from various times in Natasha's life. The memories that she has that are confusing, are false.**

**This story is focused around Loki, although it's a bit Natasha centric currently. But don't worry, we'll get right back on track soon.**

**Thank you for people who follow, and favorite this story. You make my day.**

**Thanks to the people who reviewed my story:**

**Phantom105 **

**Darling death machine**

**I love you guys!**


	13. I'm Going Slightly Mad

Natasha burst through the freshly opened door, and scraped against the floor in Loki's dwelling barefoot, pacing back and forth, her fingers grooving into her brow. She knew she looked morbidly insane; possibly schizophrenic. But, she's seen the worst of Loki; she didn't care if he saw the worst of her.

"Natasha," Loki stated, and he gently touched her forearm, stopping her rapid movement. He felt instantly awkward, and withdrew his fingers, confused as why she chose to come to him for so called 'help.' At least she maintained poor eye contact, so that he didn't feel the uncomfortable heat of her gaze. She refused to look at him in a way as if he was a stranger who had approached her on the street, offering her canned tomatoes.

She stopped pacing, and finally looked up at him, unblinking; her eyes surrounded by a fading maroon ring, and her hands knotting and twisting her nightshirt.

He took two long steps, and closed the gaping door quietly. He was admittedly shocked to find her in this way, with ragged, dampened hair, and an expression of an animal out in the wild. "Why did you come here?" he asked, confused. At first he had believed she was angry with him; but for what for, he did not know. He had expressed his apologies to the best of his efforts, and she had not only tolerated that, she accepted that, she ran through the stinging rain just because she felt _remorse._

It was all very foreign to him. Apologies. Remorse.

So, then, why was she here? What kind of 'help' could he possibly offer her? She looked ready to snatch the tie splayed on top of his neglected suit he threw upon his bed, and fabricate a noose out of it. He would say that she even appeared to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, but, he was once in that dark place, and he knew if anyone had jested at that, he would not have taken it well.

"I need your help," Natasha repeated, blinking furiously, as if she had a speck of dust entangled in her eye.

"On-" Loki started, but she interrupted him crudely.

"Do you have any magic left?" she rasped, stepping in front of him, her eyes bulging wide, and her skin like gray taffy stretched tight over sandpaper. Precipitation winked at the creases of her eyes, and her bottom lip had a drastic line splitting the cracked lip into two.

"Magic?" asked Loki, almost as if it was a term he had never heard of before, "Are you mocking me?" She didn't appear to be in a gaming mood, but the statement was still so absurd it had taken him aback.

"Answer me _honestly, _god-DAMN IT LOKI," Natasha shouted, tearing away a random shred of hair that had chosen the wrong time to fall in her face.

"I cannot perform spells, or any forms of sorcery at this current moment, as you very well know. Why are you asking me this at such a late hour?" he asked, and then yawned for effect, pretending like he had been sleeping.

"You're a liar, _Macbeth _is lying on your bed, wide open. You were awake as awake could be," Natasha cried, her voice like an out of tune piano.

"Alright, I'm sorry," Loki said, extending his hands out in a symbol of peace, unsure why he had been hit with this torrent, but simultaneously, unwilling to douse the yearning flame to soothe her ache, to peer into her mindset…

"I keep-" Natasha began, and then abruptly cut herself off, choosing to pace erratically around the room once more, swaying, and almost face planted on the carpet, due to her ankles, which kept knocking into each other.

Loki was worried that she would collapse, and grabbed a chair leaning against the wall. He guided her along, and she flopped into it, her head swinging to the side.

"Tell me," Loki said to her, his curiosity peaked.

"I keep having nightmares," she whispered.

"About what?"

"Things."

"Memories?"

"I don't know."

"I have nights like that."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying?" she bent forward to study his face with apprehension, but all she could see were sincere expressions emulating from his eyes and mouth.

"You would be able to tell if I was," he reasoned.

"That is true."

"How can I possibly help you?"

"Don't you have some sort of, well, I _know _you can't do spells, but, look Loki, I have a lot of false memories, and I need to figure out which ones are real, they're all blacked out, murky, confusing-" she hiccupped, "I'm sorry, I'm making no sense."

"Go on, I can understand you quite clearly," he replied, actually following her stream of consciousness.

"I want you to help me expose the truth," Natasha whispered.

Loki was stuck in a place where he did not want to be. Should he tell her the truth about her sister? Or should she find out on her own? It seemed like an awkward time to express such a traumatizing truth, one that would like that. Maybe he'd just deal with that later, although he _knew _it'd haunt him later.

Why, why would she ask _him? _He knew, he knew that the Avengers saw him as evil, as maniacal, why would one ask a certified lunatic to delve into the dreary puddle that was their mind, to find the single shimmering coin lying beneath the dirt that covered all clarity? Why?

_It was back to that goddamn hero theory, _he thought. He was not a hero. He should not be doing this.

A hero would tell Natasha the truth about Anna, because _heroes _always did what was _right, _no matter who they hurt, no matter what damage they left in their wake.

It wasn't something you could just spring on somebody, he reasoned in his mind, and, in her current condition, he might as well buy his own coffin and lie in it.

His train of thought was severed by her abrupt clearing of the throat, and her glassy stare at the clock mounted above the fireplace, taunting her with its eerie melody, of a steady, _tick-TICK, tick-TICK, tick-TICK._

Loki focused back on what was needed to be done, so that he could wrap up the loose ends of this utter disaster.

Her memories…her memories… what was in it for him?

_Knowledge. _It was a virtue much overlooked, but nevertheless, it was of incredibly importance to him. It was the true fruit of life, the very thing that had propelled him to seek dominance, to roam the everlasting lands that stretched into the depths of the universe. His thirst was never satiated, and he thought it certainly justifiable to break someone down who was almost as complex as he was.

Setting this aside, he _did _want her to recover her memories, also, for some reason- maybe as compensation for his own. Of course, he could not perform any sort of spell on her that would snap her memory back to order completely, and immediately- even if he _did _have his magic. However, he could perform hypnosis- it did not require magic, but rather skilled fingers and a calm, almost soporific voice, and also, the correct words to speak to the person to project them wherever they needed to go. He rarely ever performed this task, as Odin was not exactly fond of it, but he was willing to try this measure with Natasha.

"Are you familiar with hypnosis?" he asked her.

She stopped fidgeting in the chair.

* * *

Natasha was lying flat on her back on the bed, which Loki had swept clear of any garments, books, coins, or other superficial things. He twisted the gilded knob situated on the left side of a lamp adjacent to the bed, cutting off the source of light in the room. The room was now pitch black, forming theatrical caricatures out of mundane objects in the room; the mirror's shadow appeared to be a serpent with an unhinged jaw, preparing to engulf whatever unfortunate specimen that decided to cross its path.

He could barely make out the soft planes of her face, but he could at least hear her soft, rhythmic breaths. He _could _do hypnosis, he had told her, and he said that in order to perform this, she'd need to lie on a flat surface, and be completely, utterly calm.

She had made few inquiries involving the process of hypnosis, which had surprised him at first, due to her doubtful nature, but her steady disposition, and unwavering demands made him realize that she was quite, quite desperate. Of course, he was also just as desperate- maybe even more- to escape the horrors that plagued his mind, but, he knew that he deserved every last bit of monstrosity. To be redeemed was a meticulous path, and he must overcome this journey alone.

The little spider seemed confident wrapped in her warm blanket of solitude- she did have that mouthy archer to keep her company, but ultimately, he noticed that any moments of lassitude for her were rare, and if they did occur, they were away from the public eye.

Now, Loki assumed that his dreams were evanescent- that they'd fade in time, like the serrated slopes of mountains bordering a turbulent sea. To accept help from _anybody- oh, _that was vulgar, obscene, he could not imagine shattering his iron façade with-

"Loki?" Natasha said, her voice piercing through the dark cloud of Loki's thoughts, "Are we starting this or not?"

"Of course," he smirked.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

She did so.

"You must be in a state of pure relaxation," he drawled.

"First…"

He ordered her to relax parts of her body in chronological order, from her clenched toes to her rigid calf muscles, all the way to her tense biceps, and to her eyes, which were screwed into vexation.

"Take in a deep breath," he ordered, as he noticed that she had begun to slightly hyperventilate.

She did so, and after he affirmed that she was completely relaxed, he began the process.

"The universe is endless," he said. "A multitude of fragmented light, of worlds far away that we do not know of…

Imagine the universe without this, without light, without worlds, without even a single star, but rather an abyss…one that you can peer into all that you may like, but you'd never find anything."

"Now, imagine, a stripe of light has been thrust onto this blank canvas, but, it's hard to distinguish, and, appears to be a variety of colors, depending on who you ask. Take upon your own color, imagine that stripe invigorating…multiplying…layer upon layer, until the canvas is overwhelmed by this color…"

Loki spoke softly, but with conviction, making sure to add appropriate pauses where needed. The fluttering movement beneath Natasha's eyelids had slowed, indicating that she was now in a light sleep. He placed an index finger against each of her temples, and closed his eyes, squinting shut, trying to dig for even a sliver of his magic, of the old power that coursed through his veins, to perhaps probe into her mind…

"Imagine," he spoke gruffly, "That this color is forming…forming a person, a person you know, a person who loved you, fed you, coddled you…your mother."

A surge of hot light burst in front of his eyes, and he was threatened with a spark of images, which had dissipated as quickly as they had come. She breathed in sharply, but then settled back to her serene composition on the bed.

"Imagine," he continued, "That, as the abyss is swallowed by this colorful world, that you're…running to your mother, of that whom was there…"

He removed his fingers from the side of her head. He wanted to send her to a person who he knew was real; Barton had said that Natasha's mother was alive for a memorable portion of her life, and if Loki could send her to a memory of that, he might be able to set the fragile foundation of the bridge of truth.

He glanced at her, and smirked, knowing his work had been efficient.

She was now in REM sleep.

* * *

The door swung open, revealing a woman of thirty years, squeezing a tan grocery bag in the crook of her arm. She closed the door softly, and set the heavy bag down upon the floor; the weight of which felt as if it were full of rocks, rather than nutritional necessities.

She swept tendrils of dark red hair away from her face into a ponytail, and as she was doing so, she called out, "Tasha! Dollenka!"

"Coming," a voice echoed from the bedroom chamber, which was squished against its counterpart, and lined with paper-thin walls to deteriorate any hopes of privacy. The apartment in itself was a disaster, she noted with the familiar disdain, as she walked through the kitchen. The apartment was cramped, and almost always covered in a film of dirt, which chose to reside in the cracks between the tiles, and hug the fading polka dot wallpaper placed randomly about the house. She labored intensively to remove any traces of garbage, but it always seemed to reappear within a span of mere minutes. Pests and various other insects resided in the columns in the wall, and often times, leaked through holes in the structure, creeping into every crevice of their beds, and sometimes popping up in their food.

Not to mention, the atmosphere was not pleasant in any way. The temperature was never stable, and either ranged from overbearingly hot, to shivering cold. Winters were torture upon the two souls residing in the apartment; firewood as brought in from the outskirts of the city by her 'boyfriend', Mikhail, and she and her daughter would sleep by the fireplace at times, if it was too much to bear.

The summers, on the other hand, were sticky hot, and the smells were overbearing, even though they were clean; the pollution would infiltrate the soft air with vile odors of smoke, and the deadened insects would release less than wholesome wafts.

This was the best she could do, given her circumstances, and measly paychecks that were slapped in her quivering hand from time to time were spent solely on food.

Speaking of which, she unloaded the food she had just purchased onto the counter. She grabbed two potatoes, washed them, and then set them on a cutting board in preparation along with a butcher knife.

Before she started to slice through the vegetables, she walked over to her daughter's door, and knocked softly.

"Natalia?" she said. She swung open the door to reveal her daughter, lying on her stomach on her bed, and sketching something in a notebook with a piece of charcoal.

Natasha raised her head, with a slightly dazed expression on her face, and then placed her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching her sore limbs, which had been confined for far too long. "Hello, Mama."

"Hello yourself, dollenka," she answered, and pecked her daughter on the cheek. "How was school?"

"Fine, I guess," Natasha said. "Sorry I didn't answer you before. I was kind of busy."

"That's all right, I was starting to get a bit worried, but I know that your head gets stuck in the clouds when you draw," she laughed, smiling. "Can I see what you drew?"

"No!" Natasha said, taking a protective step back. "It's private!"

"Alright, alright," her mother laughed, shaking her head. "Whatever you say, dollenka. How about you come into the kitchen and keep me company?"

Natasha followed her mother into the tiny kitchen, and sat upon a creaky stool that bordered the table. She watched her mother meticulously slice the potato into even pieces.

"Can you fetch a pot, please?" her mother murmured, setting aside the freshly cut pieces, and dicing the second potato.

Natasha grabbed a medium sized pot from the cabinet below the stove, and set it on the counter. She filled the pot with water, and set it aside. After igniting the stove with a match taken from a slim packet hidden in a cupboard, she repositioned the pot, and watched her mother finish with the kitchen preparations.

Once the food was ready, they crowded in at the table, and dug into the potatoes, which were accompanied by warm bread, and cheese. It was a meager meal, but tasty all the same, even though it was lacking in spices. Natasha knew better than to complain; it was not her mother's fault after all that they were in this predicament. It was, of course, _him, _but that was not something she dared to say out loud. A jail sentence would be an unnecessary addition to the steadily growing pile of problems the family faced.

As the day waned to the inevitable throes of nightfall, lights in the city slowly began to flicker out. As this was happening, Natasha's mother closed the drapes, and threw a burning match into the fireplace. They huddled by it in worn blankets, salvaging whatever form of body heat they possibly could. As the flames cracked, and the heat kissed their frozen faces, Natasha's mother turned to her, and said,

"Now, this isn't too bad, is it?"

"No," replied Natasha, truthfully. "Dinner was really good tonight."

"Really? You think so?" her mother beamed.

"Really."

"It means a lot, dollenka." Her hand squeezed her daughter's.

They were silent for a few minutes. Natasha shivered involuntarily, and her mother removed her own blanket, and wrapped it around her daughter's shoulders. As soon as she did this, Natasha shrugged off the blanket, and wrapped it around her mother's bony shoulders once more.

"No, Mama."

"Dollenka, just take the blanket," she said, almost harshly.

"No, I'm fine," Natasha insisted. "Really."

"I don't want you to freeze, along with starve. I'm sorry, I really am, I try-"

"Mama," Natasha said, interrupting her. She gently held her mother's face in between her hands, and said, "You work three jobs, often until late, and yet you manage to keep us fed, and safe. I love you. Don't apologize."

Her mother nodded, with slight tears in her eyes. They were gone in an instant. She never cried. She wouldn't start now. Throughout the work day, she'd 'grin and bear it', so to speak, and never once complained, or broke down in front of anybody, not even Natasha.

But today, she felt that she had been oddly sentimental. Maybe it was because she couldn't stand to see her daughter shiver like that, to crave warmth, something which she wished she could provide her, but could not. They had faced tough times. But, she hoped that these experiences would cause her daughter to develop into a moralistic, strong young woman,who knew how to make it through the best of times, and the worst of times.

She finally stood up, cringing at the creaky qualities her bones had been recently displaying, and put on a kettle of tea for her and Natasha, a pre- bedtime routine. After it had boiled, she set aside two small cups, and poured the black tea into them. They cupped the hot beverage with chilled fingers, blowing on it occasionally, to prevent the crisis called the 'burned tongue.'

After their usual routine of sipping tea, which was tasty, even without sugar or honey, they began to prepare for bed. Natasha and her mother brushed their teeth in the bathroom, and then took turns in the small wash-bin, scrubbing hard with the cheap, industrial soap everyone used- which did its job, but treated the skin roughly. They however, did not care, as they'd rather deal with occasional peeling, than full on body odor.

Natasha kissed her mother goodnight, wrapping her arms around her skinny frame, and resting her chin upon her mother's shoulder.

"I love you, dollenka," her mother whispered into her ear.

"I love you too," Natasha whispered back.

Natasha was swathed in as many blankets as their apartment could provide her, and her bed's various lumps and bumps did not irritate her as they usually did, but still, sleep evaded her. She was wide awake, and listening to the jumble of noises in the city, her mind overwrought with a bundle of thoughts. It was not as if she had torments, or regrets, really, it's just that her mind always took a while to sort itself out in order to let her-self sleep.

She had tried forcing herself to receive some shut-eye, but it was a futile effort. She did wish that she got more sleep, as mornings would prove to be difficult, and there was a shortage of coffee in the city.

Eventually, after a series of tosses and turns, Natasha's eyes fluttered shut, and she slumped against her pillow, her arm splayed casually across the sea of sheets.

A loud _thunk _jarred Natasha from her once-peaceful haven of sleep a few hours later, and she sat up in bed, her hair mussed, and an annoyed expression on her face. What the hell was that? As she began peeling away the thin sheets from her body, she heard the same loud _thunk_ once more, that sent her heart racing.

In the opposite bedroom, she heard the sheets rustle, which meant that her mother would inevitably get up, and check the door, as that was the sound of a person knocking. Natasha realized this quickly, which caused her stomach to recoil in fear, as there was one person, and one person only, who produced that signature knock.

She heard her mother emit a shaky yawn, and then creak the door open. The floorboards whined as the newcomer entered the apartment.

"Where's your payment?" the voice demanded, his tone spoiled with dark tidings.

"I already gave it to you," her mother explained. "Yesterday."

"It wasn't enough."

"Mikhail, look, it's- it's past midnight- a-and, we can always negotiate, um tomorrow-"

A sharp clap resonated in the area, followed by an audible yelp, on the counterpart of her mother. Natasha sprang out of bed, her heart beating a staccato against her feeble chest. A drop of sweat raced down her rigid spine. She crept towards the door, and placed her ear against it, trembling.

"I don't care _what _time it is, don't talk that way to me," the man said.

Silence ensued.

Then, the man said, "We will resume our payment now- or else-"

"My daughter's here, we can't-"

The door that Natasha had been leaning on was burst open, slamming the wooden material into the side of her head, and sending her flying to the floor. Before she could register what was going on, she felt a sturdy hand grip her hair, and tug her to her feet. Her scalp was screaming, and through pain-induced tears, she saw the blurred image of her mother, reaching out to her with feeble hands.

She was dropped to the floor, where her right knee bashed into it hard, shooting shocking bursts of pain through her thigh. She ignored the throbbing sensation, and pushed herself up with her palms, turning to face the man who had endangered her so.

Mikhail had a cigarette propped in his mouth, emitting puffs of grey smoke, his mouth open in a sneer. His eyes were shadowy, partially concealed by his fur cap. His coat did nothing to hide his bulging muscles, which threatened to burst out of the flimsy fabric at any moment.

"Natalia," her mother said, in a very calm voice, "Please go back to your room."

"No," Natasha said, staring Mikhail straight in the eyes.

"Natalia," her mother whispered, "_Please." _

"I can't do that," Natasha said, quivering internally at the never changing composition.

"Do what your mother told you, little girl," Mikhail spat.

Natasha stood her ground. Mikhail ignored her completely, and shoved her briskly aside, groping for her mother. In the process of trying to cram his hand into the confines of her nightgown, his cigarette fell out of his mouth, and hit the floor.

It went unnoticed by the trio.

"Let _go _of her!" Natasha screamed, and, before Mikhail could stop her, she clamped her teeth around his forearm, biting so hard, her mouth was soon filled with the metallic taste of blood. He swore, and shook her off, hard, and she hit the floor once more. His boot collided with her ribcage, and a sharp _crack _indicated that a rib had been broken. Screaming, Natasha was hauled off by Mikhail, who dragged her into her bedroom. Her mother raced along, yelling for Mikhail to not commit whatever atrocity he had in his mind.

As Mikhail drew his fist back, preparing to pummel through Natasha's face, her mother caught his elbow, which then slammed into her nose, breaking it.

Natasha sprang loose, and then ran through the bedroom door to the kitchen, in hopes of finding a weapon.

What she did find, when she came into contact with the kitchen, was not what she had expected.

The wood was roast with flame, which had spread to the billowing curtains encasing the window, and the table, which was slowly starting to rot black.

Natasha screamed, "_FIRE! FIRE!" _ But no one was heeding her warning. As she raced back into the bedroom, she saw her mother cowering at the force of Mikhail's furious yells, with spittle occasionally flying into her face.

"THERE'S A FIRE!" she screamed. They still did not hear her, and she resumed screaming the urgent message, until they finally understood what was going on.

The three gaped in shock at the burning kitchen, with flames that were now dispersing, and has blocked the door way completely.

"The bathroom, the bathroom has a window," her mother gasped, but before they could do anything, Mikhail suddenly grabbed Natasha's mother tightly in the back of her nightgown, wrenching her back.

"You didn't pay my debt," he growled. "I think this will suffice." He suddenly punched her, hard, and she flew to the floor. He grabbed Natasha, who was kicking, screaming, and beating her fists upon his shoulder, which had no effect. He stormed into the bathroom, then, with one arm wrapped around her torso, and punched the window, sending glass shards flying to the wind. He lifted her, and she grasped his arms with her fingernails, determined to hold on. He began to shake her off his grip, and she screamed, still fighting to hang out. Finally, he shook her off, but she caught herself on the ledger, hanging on tight with slippery hands. Looking up at him, she whispered, "Please, please don't hurt my mama, please-"

He kicked her in the face, causing her hands to release their hold, and she cascaded down, screaming, her legs kicking in a comical way, mimicking those funny cartoons in those books she liked to read.

The cold air rushed around her, and there was nothing, all she could see was Mikhail's delighted face, and the flame, the flame which destroyed, which plundered, her mother, the fire, the home, the hit, the miss, the love that was so tainted, all because-

She hit the ground then.

* * *

Her screams pierced through the dark calm that Loki had established in the room, and he immediately propelled himself out of the chair he had placed at her bedside. She was thrashing about on the bed, her legs kicking wildly, and her head repeatedly slamming back, over, and over, and over again. He gripped her shoulders, and yelled,

"NATASHA, WAKE UP. WAKE UP NOW!"

Her screams persisted. He shook her harder, but she was still jerking about. Her elbow nearly missed his nose, and he threw her down upon the bed.

By the gods.

Normally, he was always able to awake the people he had hypnotized, but Natasha was an entirely different case. Maybe, maybe this had to do with his damned magic being out of his reach. He flicked on the light in order to see, and then scooped Natasha up, wincing at the brutality of her thrusting limbs, which were attempting to jar the bones in his face apart. He dragged her to the bathroom, deposited her on the floor, and then turned the shower on.

He opened the clear door, and then threw her under the ice-cold rays. She jolted awake, her body tensing as if she had been hit by lightning, and she screamed as she was pummeled by the slaps of water bestowed upon her.

"NATASHA!" he yelled, and wrenched the door open. She clamored out, resting her hands on the edge of the marble surface of the sink.

"Why-why was I in the shower?"

"You wouldn't wake up."

"I thought you, all powerful Loki, could-"

He clamped a hand over her mouth suddenly, and then dodged the inevitable kick she thrust out at him, angled directly at his most sensitive part.

"You," he said, removing his hand from her mouth, "You need to stop this. You are out from the hypnosis. I'm sorry I had to do this. Obviously-"

"No," she interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

I wasn't thinking straight," she said. "You know how odd it was for me to wake up in the shower, with you standing right there? It was pretty weird."

"You were screeching like a schizophrenic baboon!"

"I was?" Natasha said, her face coloring.

"Yes. What did you see?" he asked her.

"I am not telling you," she snapped.

"Fine," he said.

They stared at each other for an uncomfortable length of time, until a smile started to twitch upon Loki's stoic lips. Natasha chuckled, then, shaking her head.

"No one can know about this, Loki. Especially not to Clint."

Loki raised an eyebrow, "A-"

"Shut it," Natasha warned, waggling her index finger.

"As you wish," he said, rolling his eyes.

"No one can know, though, in all seriousness."

"I am aware."

"Loki, why did you help me? It definitely wasn't to be 'nice.'"

"You barged into my room like a maniac," Loki reasoned.

"You could have just kicked me out."

Well, he _could _have, she was right.

"That was not the right thing to do," he said.

"And you're an expert on that?"

"Why are you trying to anger me, when I have just done you a favor?" he growled. "Or tried, at least."

Natasha was quiet for a moment, staring at the ground. She turned to leave then, and walked out of the area. Loki followed her closely behind.

She opened the door, and Loki glared at her, wondering why in Valhalla he'd offered to help this insensitive brute of a-

"Thank you," Natasha said, quietly. "I mean it."

The door gently swayed shut.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Here's an early update! Just cause I love you guys to pieces :)**

**Anyways, after this chapter, there will be great expansion of Loki and Natasha's relationship, and scenarios between the two. The more serious chapters will be reserved for later, if you don't like it.**

**I hope the hypnosis stuff didn't sound too corny.**

**I decided not to put Natasha and her mother's conversation into Russian, because there was a lot of dialogue, and I didn't want people to get all confused, and spend time trying to figure it out.**

**By the way, the 'city' is Stalingrad, and, you guys probably know this, but Natasha's real name is Natalia. **

**Also, as I said before, this story is Loki centric, and _will _go back to him on that fine line of good versus bad. I don't want to get sidetracked from that!**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	14. Don't Lose Your Head

"You're up bright and early."

Steve lifted his head in the general direction of the husky voice, his hand wrapped around a milk carton, which he was about to pour into a bowl of Cheerios that he had placed on the circular table. "Well, yes," he said, tipping the carton to the side and releasing a thin stream of milk, "How was your night out, Miss. Natasha?"

"Interesting," she said, and snagged a seat opposite to him. "I'm guessing the rest of the team's hung over?"

"Yup," Steve said, "Except for Banner. He had a handsome amount of drinks, but decided that it'd be better not to get raving drunk."

"He has common sense," Natasha agreed, giving Steve a dim smile.

"Mmm," Steve said, ladling the spoon dripping with the crunchy cereal into his eager mouth. He was a little bit unnerved, as Natasha watched him eat.

"Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable," she said.

"You're not, don't worry," Steve lied, and smiled.

"Good." She then stood up, and sauntered over to the coffee machine. After shrugging a reasonable amount of coffee grains into a flimsy filter, she placed it in the top portion of the machine, and then grabbed a decently sized mug, which was decorated with canary colored daffodils. Throughout the short span of time she had been in the Stark Towers, she had gotten a good sense of where the dishes and utensils in the kitchen were.

Finally, the coffee was ready, and she gingerly held the steaming cup by its handle, the warmth seeping into her rough fingertips. She sat back down at the table, and took a sip. Looking back over at Steve, she noticed with faint amusement, that he had already downed the contents in the bowl, and was now moving on to seconds.

He was a tad bit laconic, but she was okay with that. She preferred to be silent, rather than talk in the mornings anyway. Bustling chatter and pompous laughter so early in the day always seemed to jar her self-motivated state of zen, and prod her temples with taunting fire pokers. She had a low tolerance of bullshit in general, but in the mornings, even an ounce of toleration was completely gone. Once she had a few cups of coffee, however, she moved from a lethal mood to a more serene one, one where she had things under a greater amount of control.

She poured herself her own bowl of cereal, and munched thoroughly, drumming her fingers on the smooth surface of the table, itching for something to read. For some reason, in the mornings, she liked to have a magazine, or a book of some sort to keep herself occupied with while she ate. She perused the room with wanton eyes, and noticed that in the island, there was that built in bookshelf.

_Oh, right. _

She stood up, and knelt down by the bookshelf, one slender hand leafing through the hard-cover bound books and the shiny magazines. All of the magazines were men's magazines, of course, with some having Tony Stark as the cover star.

_Of course. _

She rolled her eyes.

There was a _Cosmo _shoved between a _Men's Health _and _Sports Illustrated, _but she shoved that aside as well, barely giving the sinuous celebrity on the cover a passing glance. She generally hated magazines like that; she had no care for fashion, or makeup tips, and the sex advice she could pass on as well. She was not a prude in any way, and had had satisfying sexual escapades, but they were short lived, and rare. Time was not in her favor for leisure activities as such, and the men that she'd gotten involved with had not viewed the moment as a hookup, but rather, the beginning of an actual relationship.

Yuck.

Natasha continued looking through the meager stack, and finally found something worthwhile: _A Farewell to Arms _by Ernest Hemingway. She had not read many classics, except for _Anna Karenina, _but she was forced to read that one in her scholar activities. In the Red Room, not only had they insisted on teaching the girls how to break a man's spine in seven different ways, but they had also insisted that they be well caught up on Russian literature while doing it.

Joy.

She was not retarded about American literature in any way, shape, or form, however. She just hadn't gotten around to actually sitting down and reading it. But lately, she had a good portion of free time at night, and a little in the morning (like right now). Plus, the Avengers were AWOL, save for Steve, so that she'd have a little privacy.

It was a nice way to start the day.

"_In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river…"_

* * *

For once, Loki ached for something that had not been part of his daily routine in what felt like an eternity: normalcy. He wasn't entirely sure what his definition of normalcy happened to be, but he knew it definitely didn't entitle him to willingly aid a mortal being who was in desperate need of help.

_Normalcy. _

Who was he trying to kid? There was no way he could ever return to the beautiful dreamscape of solace; of mirth, of free-footed walks through the quiet verdant woods of Asgard. Of course, he soiled this dazzling image with his urge to claim Midgard as his own, and also, by striking deals with a dark force that was one of Odin's many foes. Funny, because Laufey happened to be one of these people, and Loki had killed him- killed his true father to appease the great pretender, the man who had rolled elegant stories off his tongue of the oh so evil frost giants, and he was the man who condemned Loki for being a liar, yet, lied with great ease himself.

It was no wonder why Loki loathed Odin so. Thinking about his personal problems ate at his stance and esteem, and he did not want anything to do with it.

After Natasha had left, after that bizarre chain of events where she had almost castrated him, Loki found, with little surprise, that sleep would not come. He was beginning to feel the ill effects of sleep deprivation; a headache pulsed against his sore forehead, and bruise-like shadows had blossomed beneath his eyes, which were beginning to adopt a concave look. He was sort of indifferent to this. He did care somewhat for his appearance, but, unlike Thor, he was not narcissistic. He wished at times, as a young adult on Asgard, that his raven hair shone with Thor's golden haired radiance instead, and that his lanky, awkward body could take on some much needed brawn. Thor _always _got the women in Asgard, they always pursued him at Odin's lavish parties, thrusting their cleavage in his face as they superficially cackled, weaving strands of soft hair around their pretty fingers, smiling their wide-toothed grins.

However, it's not to say that Loki was celibate- far from it. Women _did _pursue him, but usually, it was because they were Thor's leftovers, or rejections. At one point, a woman by the name of Emiliana had attempted to win Thor's affections, but, his were turned to a different woman's instead. Emiliana had then practically jumped on Loki about a moment later. It had been a frustrating evening for him, and, he was not about to miss out on a tangible opportunity to bed a woman. He did give in to the urge to sleep with her, and afterwards, in the dim rays of morning, dismissed the broad with barely a second thought.

Loki thought about all of this now, while draped over a chair conveniently placed in front of the luminous window in his room, the one that he had tried to break his first day over at Stark Towers. He had watched the progression of the paralyzing orb of the moon in the sky, with some delight, as it faded into a soft ring, and was replaced by the blinding sun. Tints of baby pink still graced the sky, as it was somewhat early, and he watched with some displeasure, down below, at the bustling crowds of robust humans clattering down the narrow sidewalks, eager to arrive at their mundane, banal jobs.

He smirked.

His stomach growled at that moment, and he frowned. After that disturbing sushi dinner, he had not had a single morsel to eat, and he had been absolutely starving. It was pathetic how often a human body craved food. He was comfortable in the chair, currently, and did not want to get up, but then reminded himself that he should, as Thor and his drunken friends were probably still passed out, and he should grab the chance at getting breakfast before they descended into the kitchen.

After running a toothbrush over his teeth, and slipping on comfortable shoes, Loki exited his bedroom, and entered the elevator. As the elevator stopped on the appropriate floor, he strode down the dimly lit hallway into the kitchen, where he was greeted by a loathsome sight:

That _peasant, _Steve Rogers, was engulfing a gargantuan bowl of food into his gaping hole of a mouth, and, Natasha Romanoff, his ever so darling little spider, was sitting right across from him, flipping through some book.

It wasn't as bad as normal mornings, but, he would have preferred his mealtime to be spent in solitude.

His entrance was quiet, but still heard by the tentative ears of Natasha, who then said,

"Good morning, Loki." Her voice was nonchalant, and her facial expression remained static, her eyes glued to the book she held in her palms.

At that greeting, Steve looked up, saw the demi-god, and, said, "It was nice to have breakfast with you, Miss. Natasha, uh, I'll catch ya later." With barely a passing glance for Loki, he walked briskly out of the decorative eating area.

"It's quite humorous, how mortals still quake at the very sight of me," Loki mused, sitting in the chair that Steve Rogers had so hastily abandoned.

"I don't think he left because he's scared of you, Loki," Natasha muttered, _still _avoiding eye contact.

"Well, then what valid reason could you offer in explanation?"

"Manhattan."

"_Still?_"

Natasha simply raised an eyebrow; refusing to answer.

"You know, I deserve a thank you after you put me through that torture last night."

"I did."

"It was meek," he responded.

Silence ensued.

"It was meek," he repeated.

"I can hear you," she said.

"As I heard your voluptuous screams the prior night."

Natasha _finally _set the dastardly book down, and raised an eyebrow at Loki, chuckling internally at what he had just said, which could've been mistaken for a sexual innuendo.

"Right," she said curtly, staring him down in that strange, unnerving fashion she always loved to display, because it usually made her offender feel uncomfortable.

Of course, Loki's face did not burn with the intensity of her gaze, but rather, he broke into a solid grin, and said, "I find it _endearing _how quick you are to pass supposedly deleterious comments towards me, when I helped you recover a shard of truth from your collection of broken memories."

"How would you know I recovered anything useful?"

"Because you wouldn't _tell me,_" he laughed, "You think you're being surreptitious, whereas I can read you just as well as that lore you're so infatuated with currently."

"No one can read me, Loki," Natasha replied, coolly, "No one can."

"I believe you're in denial."

"That's what you'd like to believe."

"Ah ah, now, now. Why this animosity so early in the day? I have _helped _you, and really, I don't know why."

"I said thank you," Natasha said.

"And for what?"

"What do you want from me?" she sighed.

"Compensation," he hissed.

"I'll send you a fruit basket," Natasha said.

He wrinkled his brow. "A basket of fruit…?"

"Okay, look, thank you for, um, helping out, but, I don't think that we should do this again-"

"You trusted me somewhat," Loki offered, smirking.

She stayed quiet.

"Why is that?" he cooed.

"I was not thinking clearly," she demanded, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Your excuses are quite petty," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Get _off _my back."

"As you wish."

"Good."

"So hostile," he said, smirking, and then stood up, preparing to leave.

"You're going without taking anything to eat? What a waste of time," Natasha said, shaking her head slightly.

"Oh, but of course," Loki said, and wrenched open the fridge door. He pulled out a full carton of apple cider, a packet of mozzarella cheese, and a plate covered with saran wrap, which covered four sticky donuts. He balanced this all in the crook of his arm.

"Those are Stark's," Natasha said, turning around, her lips twitching.

"Your point?" he asked.

"Carry on," she said, and resumed her reading.

As soon as he left, she placed the book down on the table, and let out an exasperated sigh. Yes, he was an infuriating man swollen with multiple problems of various complexities, _but_, that didn't mean that they couldn't be at least civil with each other.

He _did _help her last night, after all.

She felt that if she had expressed how she truly felt about the whole affair, she would have come off as slightly sentimental. It was an emotion that was practically taboo to her- she rarely stated any deep emotional thoughts, and when so, she tended to become embarrassed, and unleash a fiery round of hostility.

She wasn't sure _why_ exactly she'd even come to him for help, well, she'd try to reason that desperate times called for desperate measures, but, converging with the enemy? Oh, the irony.

Why was Loki even alright with this? He obviously venerated her to some degree; if he didn't, he would have laughed at her when she appeared in his room last night, and then slammed the door with full force on her pathetic face.

He was probably just bored; she reasoned. All he did for the majority of the time was sit, cooped up in his room, with nothing to keep him company except the stack of books on his desk. He seemed okay, even, without the presence of people, and she wondered briefly, if he had any friends back home.

Maybe, he was actually amicable before the Manhattan catastrophe- Thor _had _said that Loki had lost his mind- which meant that he had some sanity to begin with. It was odd for her to think of him as a normal, functioning being- to think of him without the emotional baggage he always seemed to carry on his back.

Tired, and more than frustrated, she picked up _A Farewell to Arms, _and strode out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Where's Stark?" Clint asked Pepper, who was skimming her finger along a packet of notes attached to a clipboard settled in the crook of her arm.

"He's working on some project, so I came in to substitute for this meeting," Pepper explained.

"He could've made it for this one very short meeting," Clint reasoned.

"Whenever he gets an idea, he immediately goes down to his lab and works- he could spend thirty minutes to thirty hours in there. I have to remind him to eat and sleep. Nothing can break him out of it," she said, sighing. Tony had rolled out of bed at three a.m., which had awoken her right away, and with a chaste kiss to her forehead, he proclaimed that he was going down to the lab, and left. It was now four p.m., and he was _still _down there- she had brought him takeout from Shawarma, and set it beside him, as he was attaching wires to nodules using a finite pair of tweezers. Two hours later, when she went to check on him again, the food was still sitting in its bag, untouched, and cold.

She had gotten pretty used to this, however, and she shook him out of his technology induced stupor, sitting by him as he finally ate with fervor, even though the heat had seeped out of the food he had become infatuated with.

Now, the Avengers had joined together for a quick meeting: Thor, Steve, Banner, and Clint- to discuss the state of affairs at the moment. Natasha said that she'd arrive at a later time.

"I have something to say," Thor declared, and all heads turned towards him, as he said, "I need to return to Asgard for a trice, as I must see how my family and my people are faring."

"Will Loki be going with you?" Clint asked, sardonically.

"Well," Thor replied, completely ignoring the nasty tone within Clint's speech. "I've thought about it, but I do not know if it's entirely necessary."

"What do you mean, it's not necessary?"

"He has not fulfilled Odin's requirements yet."

"Don't they want to check up on him, to uh, make sure he hasn't, you know, killed anybody?" Bruce asked.

"They can see how he's doing here with archaic magic, of _Ser Dammen, _the looking pond," Thor explained. "I would like him to return to Asgard for a little while, and perhaps converse with our parents, but, at the same time, I do not think it'd be the best for his spirit."

"I'm just saying," Steve interjected, "That it might actually be better for him to return to his home planet for a little while, so, he doesn't think that everyone's forgotten him."

"Yeah, yeah, take him back!" Clint agreed, a broad smile plastered on his face.

"You simply say that because you want to get rid of him," Thor accused, glaring at his fellow teammates.

At that moment, Pepper was grateful that Tony wasn't there, as he would have incinerated a full on war with the demi-god.

At that moment, Natasha sauntered into the room, her face austere as always.

"Hello, Natasha," Pepper said, giving her a thin smile.

"Hi."

"We're just discussing future plans, and of course, _Loki,_" Steve explained.

"As usual," Natasha said.

"Yes, as _usual, _and since you've been spending so much time with him, I'm sure you can give us a shit-ton of valuable insight on Loki," Clint said, glaring at her.

"Watch it, Clint," Natasha shot at him, and crossed her arms. "Anyway, what's the spiel?"

"I am headed back to Asgard in two weeks' time," Thor said, "And I am debating whether or not to bring Loki with me."

"It might not be the best decision to go on your own," Pepper said.

"Ah, maybe Stark shall accompany me?" Thor suggested.

"He really can't, actually," Pepper said, "We'll be headed back to our regular home next week for a bit, because Tony's got several unfinished projects he wants to finish there."

"Wait, then, who will be with Loki?" Thor asked.

"And what did Fury say about this?" Clint interrupted.

"Fury's off in Guatemala, I believe, so I don't know," Natasha said. "He said he'll be getting back to us soon. I'm actually off next week as well; I'm busy."

"I can watch over Loki," Bruce suddenly offered, grinning.

The room grew silent.

"Geez, can't anyone take a joke around here?" he said, laughing.

"You know what," Natasha suddenly said, her eyes widening slightly, "Has anyone bothered to talk to Loki about this?"

Thor, all of a sudden, looked incredibly guilty.

"I guess not, then. I would be pretty peeved if people were making my life decisions for me," Natasha said.

"Well, Loki isn't capable of-" Clint began.

"ENOUGH!" Thor boomed, pointing a finger at Clint as a warning. The archer shut his mouth immediately.

"So, why don't you go talk to him?" Natasha asked.

"He refuses."

"You know what, I'm sick of this, I'll go talk to him myself," Natasha snapped, and walked out of the room.

Loki was reading the scene in _Macbeth, _where the doctor and Lady Macbeth's assistant were discussing Lady Macbeth's deteriorating mental health, when a sharp series of knocks ascended upon his door.

He groaned as he got up, wondering why the blasted Avengers couldn't leave him be. As he opened the door, he was greeted by Natasha's grim face, with pursed lips.

"Do you require my services?" he asked.

"Very funny, Loki," she said. "No, actually, I was going to invite you to come on a walk with me."

He raised an eyebrow at her in an almost comical fashion, staring at her face, trying to detect any jocular traces.

"You must be bored in there," Natasha said, gesturing with her hand.

"Actually no, I have preoccupied myself with reading Shakespeare," Loki said.

"How many times have you read _Macbeth _by now?" Natasha asked.

"Seven," Loki admitted.

"C'mon, let's go, then," Natasha said.

"Quite the change of heart," Loki muttered, and then retreated back into his chamber to retrieve a suitable jacket and a pair of shoes.

Natasha gave him a once over, and prided herself internally that she managed to pick out clothes for a guy, and the fact that the shopping trip previously had gone swell.

_Swell. Really? _She thought.

As he returned, she said, "Oh, by the way, let's not mention last night…okay?"

"Alright," he agreed, in a somewhat passive nature, which confused Natasha slightly. His persona seemed split into infinitesimal fragments; he was not in any way an open book, that's for sure.

And neither was she.

"Where exactly would we be walking?" he asked.

"On the sidewalk," she blatantly pointed out.

"I know_ that,_ but to _where_?"

"We could go to Central Park," Natasha said, "It's a nice place."

"But there's people there," Loki said.

"You don't have to talk to them Loki," Natasha replied, wincing internally at the tone of his voice.

He remained silent.

Luckily, the elevator ride wasn't delayed by anyone else, and as they exited Stark Towers, they found themselves swept in the midst of the bustling sea of people.

A zephyr wafted through the area, nipping gently at Loki's and Natasha's cheeks. They were in the midst of fall, and the weather had grown considerably cooler in New York City.

"Central Park is about ten minutes away," Natasha said. "We can just walk."

"Sounds like a plan," Loki said.

The walk was brisk. Natasha pointed out the hot dog and pretzel vendors, and suggested that they stop by later and pick up some food. Loki looked around at the towering buildings; at the skyscrapers with rows of paneled windows that scintillated in the sunlight.

"Not bad, hmm?" she said.

He shrugged.

As they walked down eighth avenue, they saw the entrance to the park.

"What's our purpose being here?" Loki asked, as they strolled down the narrow alleyway.

"I don't know. I've never been here, actually."

"You sounded like you did."

"I do that a lot."

There was a line to purchase tickets for the zoo to the right of them, but neither really had any desire to go, so they continued down the road, which was surrounded by maple trees, that swayed to and fro in the breeze. People had set up carts advertising caricatures, and there was a woman wearing a neon sweater receiving one; Loki wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"You look like you just smelled something awful," Natasha said.

"Those drawings are ghastly," he said, pointing to the theatrically exaggerated facial drawings that were stacked on a metal rack.

"Oh, those are just caricatures," she said, "They're supposed to look silly."

"I don't care; they're awful."

"Everyone's entitled to their opinion," she said, shrugging.

"And mine's right."

"Well, then," she said, rolling her eyes.

They exited that area of the park, and entered the playground, where a cluster of children knelt in a sandbox, pouring the grainy substance over a plastic truck.

"The swings are open," Natasha said, "And I'm a bit tired."

"They're a children's plaything," Loki said.

"No, they're not. You're being very unreasonable today," she said.

"Not true, I agreed to go on a walk with you, I don't know what for," he said. "You must have some ulterior motive."

"I don't," she lied, and directed him towards the swingset, him following, grudgingly.

She situated herself in the scoop of a seat, and he did as well, dragging the tip of his shoe over the wood chips on the ground.

"You know," she said, "I'm sorry about the whole hypnosis thing, I shouldn't have come."

He looked out towards the skyline, and then back at her. "What are you sorry for?"

"For wasting your time."

"You didn't," he said. "I didn't mind."

"Really? I attacked you like a fucking psychopath."

"I'm the psychopath, clearly," he argued. He swallowed, and then said, "Did you get anything out of it?"

"I did," she muttered. "I just don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about last night any more. I just feel bad about it."

He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Don't. It's fine."

A little boy ran in front of the swing set, soon followed by his sanguine father, who was laughing heartily.

"I know you have something you need to tell me," Loki said. "I can tell that Thor's keeping a secret from me."

"It's true," Natasha admitted. "He's going back to Asgard in two weeks."

"Oh?" said Loki, raising an eyebrow. "And how does this concern me? I have no affiliation with that place."

"Well…" she said, slowly, "He was thinking about taking you there."

"For _what?_" he said, incredulously, "So the crowds can pelt me with food, and laugh at my wrongdoings? No thank you."

"I don't think Thor wants to bring you back so people can laugh at you," Natasha said. "He's got his flaws, but he's not an asshole."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Loki scoffed.

"I don't know him like you do, obviously," Natasha replied, "But still, I don't think he'd do that. I think he wants you to talk to your par-"

"_His_," Loki said, cutting Natasha off.

_Well, shit, _Natasha thought.

"I am not going," Loki said.

"Well, if you don't go, then you'll have to stay with one of the Avengers."

"What do you mean?"

"Stark Towers will not be open to us next week because Tony's headed back to his regular home."

He stayed silent, and she continued, "You probably would have to stay in a hotel with one of us, or something."

"I wish I had a choice over my own fate," he growled, clenching his hands into trembling fists.

"Well-"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said, looking at her with those large, bright green eyes of his.

"You can avoid this for the time being, but you'll have to think about this at some point or another."

"I know that, Natasha," he said, sighing.

"Look, what if I go with you guys to Asgard?" she suggested.

"Why would you do that?"

"I know you're not comfortable around Thor."

"I'm not."

"Would you mind it if I went?"

"I'm not going, though."

"But say you were."

"You're the closest thing I have to a…friend," he said. "I suppose not."

She opened her mouth slightly, and then closed it once more. She wasn't sure of what to say.

"Let's go back," he said. "I want to try one of those…pretzels."

"Right on," she said.

* * *

They purchased a pleasantly warm pretzel from a nearby cart in close proximity to Stark Towers, and it was dotted with tiny square beads of salt. Loki smelled it, tentatively, and she cracked a smile at his childish approach to trying a new food.

"Just eat it," she urged.

He took a large bite, and chewed thoughtfully. Then, with a quick movement, he brushed off the majority of the salt particles on the dough, sending them fluttering to the ground.

"Why would you do that? It's the flavoring!" she cried.

"It's repulsive," he said, "But, I like the food itself."

"See, I'm not completely full of bad ideas," she said.

"No, not completely," he agreed.

He finished it by the time they got to Stark Towers, and as they entered the lobby, they noticed, with a sudden horror, that all of the Avengers were clustered around the TV, watching a football game.

"Quietly, go quietly," Natasha whispered into Loki's ear, and they tiptoed past the couch.

"GREETINGS. HOW MAY I HELP YOU," a robot suddenly beeped, and, of course, everyone situated around the TV turned around to see who had activated the machine.

"Well, hey, hey, isn't it our lovely couple!" Tony chuckled, his wet hair pasted to his head. He looked like he was fresh from the shower, no grease stains or filth were anywhere to be found on him.

Clint gave Loki the death stare, and in response, he smirked.

"Now, how was your walk?" Tony asked, grinning.

"Pleasantly, I hope," Thor beamed.

Loki walked off, and Natasha said, "It was just fine."

At Natasha's floor, Loki stepped out as well, and she looked at him, confused. "I had a good time tonight," he admitted.

"Yeah," she said, and shrugged. "I'm glad."

"You still haven't convinced me, however," he said, waggling his finger.

"I'll change your mind," she said.

"Oh? I don't think so," he said.

Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his midsection, prompting a surprised reaction out of him. His skin was pleasantly warm, and she could feel the rapid song of his heartbeat against her's. He wasn't sure of how to respond, and patted her back uncertainly.

"I know you want to do the right thing for once," she whispered in his ear, and he froze, unsure of what to say back to her. She then released him, and with a simple farewell, he turned around and left.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Well. They hugged, finally. Hope it was somewhat appropriate, you guys tell me what you think. **

**Anyways, in my last author's note, I completely forgot to thank my reviewers, so, here's a thanks to everyone who reviewed for chapters 12 & 13:**

**-Phantom105**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**-Rose of Ice**

**-AvengerNerd3**

**-Social Riot**

**You guys are truly amazing!**

**Thanks to my new followers and favorites- thank you so much!**

**Anyway, I thought Loki might be cast in Thor's shadow in a variety of ways. But hey, if I saw him in a dining hall, I'd totally jump on him- not Thor (although he's attractive as well). Oh, Loki. :/**

**Until next time,**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	15. Body Language

"So, you know, what's going on between you and Loki?"

Natasha fixated on the wooden stick she grasped with both hands, and poked the small ivory ball sharply, propelling it to the other end of the pool table.

"So close," she muttered, straightening back up, and sighing.

"_Natasha," _Clint said, and poked her upper arm.

"Yes?"

"I asked you if there's anything going on between you and Loki."

"Clint, don't be ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes. "Besides, you were an advocate of us going out to dinner together."

"It was to help you, that's it. I _don't _want you hanging out with him anymore."

Natasha whirled around to face her companion, and said, "I don't need anyone's help, Clint. And, you're not in control of me. _No one is." _

"I'm sorry, I- I don't know, you two seem to be…" Clint's teeth pressed together, and he waved his hands in a circular fashion, trying to stitch together words that wouldn't land him a foot in his crotch.

"We're not talking about this. It's your turn, anyways," she said, and handed him the stick.

"Are you two fucking?" Clint blurted.

Natasha froze for a millisecond, and then, calmly said, "You're trespassing into dangerous territory, Clint. I advise that you stop."

"So you _are." _

"No. We're not. Why have you been up on my case lately about this?"

Clint was quiet for a moment, and his gaze shifted to his hands clasped together.

"Well?" Natasha said, still looking for the answer to her question. "It wasn't a rhetorical question."

"Do you remember our last night in Budapest?" Clint asked.

Natasha looked down at him, breathing faster than normal, her teeth clenching together. "Vaguely, yes."

"Remember," he said, "Remember how after we defeated Karov, we went back to that summer house we rented- and- and- we made love there. You remember that, Natasha?"

"_Clint_," she snapped, "That was the _past. _That was a _one time thing!_"

"Not for me, it wasn't!" he yelled.

Her eyes widened dramatically, and they roamed his face.

"I'm in love with you, Tasha," he whispered. He stepped towards her, his eyes washing over hers, his tainted with the unmistakable air of hope.

She swallowed, and said, "Love is for-"

Before she could do anything, Clint grasped her chin, and pressed his lips to hers, reveling in the soft warmth, his other hand reaching for her back.

She pressed her palms against his chest, and for a moment, he was happy, certain that she was returning the affections, until she shoved him sharply, and he stumbled back, almost tripping over a loosened tie in his boot. The next thing he knew, her hand slapped his face hard, and he felt a strange prickling sensation gather in his now overly sensitive cheek.

"CLINT," she growled, stepping forward, and jutting his ribcage with a sharp finger, "Why the HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT?!"

"I thought, I thought you felt the same way…" he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, no I didn't, you cut me off before I was about to tell you something that would have _contradicted _that! Clint, what we had was a _one night stand _influenced by too much alcohol. That's it. It's over. It's in the past."

"But I don't _want _it to be," he groaned.

"It's too bad," she replied, and smoothed her hand over her face, immensely exasperated.

That smug bastard Loki was right. Of course he was. Of course he just _had _to be; she hoped that Loki had been spinning extravagant tales just to piss her off, but no, of course Clint had to go on and kiss her and prove all of his theories to be true.

"You're an awesome guy, but you're like a brother to me. I don't want to hurt you."

"It's too late," he muttered, and turned away from her.

She looked down at the ground, unsure of how to proceed. She was treading dangerous waters, she knew that.

Clint then mumbled something unintelligible.

"What'd you say?" she asked, peering over at him with a perplexed expression on her face.

"I said…" he exhaled sharply, blinking sporadically, "Is it because of Loki?"

She then lost it. She had enough of his outrageous allegations, his morbidly insane sentiments he had been expressing towards her, and the all in all hostility that surrounded her like a cloud. She had had _enough. _

Without a simple farewell, she spun on her heel and walked promptly to the door, her face covered in an impassive mask, betraying no vivid emotion…no traces of deep hearted anger.

"Wait-" he said, quietly, wanting to take back the kiss, and everything he had just accused her of. It was a bit too late though; she was pissed at him. When Natasha was truly furious, she became deathly quiet, and to be honest, it was unnerving to no end.

She stopped, but didn't say anything, her back still turned to him in what could have been mistaken for defiance.

"You were saying," he swallowed, "You were saying that love is for…"

"Children," she finished his statement, and then left the room.

* * *

Loki was standing in the Stark library, leafing through the collection of Shakespeare stories in the shelf, determining which one should be the next to satiate his never ending appetite for books. He had already read _Macbeth _a superfluous amount of times, and could practically recite the lines by memory. He wondered briefly if Shakespeare was even human; the idea that a mortal could possess so much intellect astounded him. He was not impressed by many things on Midgard, but this, he'd admit, was deserving of a round of applause.

He fished out _A Midsummer Night's Dream, _which was apparently a comedy about various lovers traipsing through the woods, and encountering a fine amalgam of comedic situations involving faerie folk.

_Lovers. _Such a pretentious term, he'd always thought, as most time 'lovers' were merely two sexually frustrated people clashing together in a sweaty fistfight in a singular bed. Love, for the most point, had almost nothing to do with it.

As he turned the book over in his palm to look at the cover, he stopped. On the cover was the illustrated Queen of the Faeries, who was perched on a slim branch. Spirals of scarlet hair trailed down her back, and her gown was made entirely of tear shaped evergreen leaves, which barely covered her body, leaving much to the imagination.

The intensity of her hair color reminded Loki all too suddenly of a certain women who had thrust herself into Loki's life almost unexpectedly. He could still feel the ghost of her arms around him; could still smell the lingering vanilla scent of her soft hair.

He placed the book down on the shelf, and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. Was he going mentally insane? Mortals were supposed to be disgusting; their very presence should cause Loki's nose to wrinkle in disgust. But instead, no, he was thinking about her heartbeat against his, and the way her pupils dilated subconsciously when he spoke to her. He knew that she possibly did not feel for him in any way; she'd told him that love was for children so long ago in the helicarrier, with utter conviction. The woman wasn't a complete brute, but, any soft spots she might have had were calloused now, and so, he was completely shocked when she had willingly embraced him.

Of course, he mused, she was probably taking advantage of him with her dastardly feminine wiles. Women tended to flirt with men to get what they wanted; Natasha desired for him to go back to Asgard for some reason, and the way she whispered that statement into his ear had sent shivers racing down his spine, and he had almost right then and there raced to his room to pack his bags. But why did she care what he did? If he left, and never came back, she shouldn't even care in the first place. He was of no value to her. He was of no value to anybody, if he should think about it truly.

He placed _A Midsummer Night's Dream _back in its original spot, and instead took out _Hamlet. _He was going to try another tragedy, and then maybe, _maybe, _go for a comedy. As he began walking away from the Shakespearean aisle, he heard the unmistakable sound of the library door opening, and closing.

_Who could that be…_

The footsteps were light, and soft- it must be a woman stepping in, so the newcomer was either Pepper or Natasha. However, Loki noticed with slight satisfaction, that the way the mysterious person was walking was with a catlike tread, a daunting tiptoe.

_Natasha. _

He stepped out from the aisle, into the open lobby of the library, which was created as a reading area, with various chairs and a sofa, bordered by a cushiony ottoman where one could rest one's feet.

He didn't see her there. He suddenly picked up the delicate tread over in the far left aisle, and he followed the sound.

"Natasha?" he called out, not wanting to scare her.

"Loki?" She stepped out from an aisle empty handed, her face flush against her messy array of curls.

"Oh, hello," he said, before giving her his signature smirk.

"Hi," she said, her eyes narrowing, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, plotting world domination with _Hamlet,_" Loki chuckled, which prompted a thin smile from Natasha's part.

"Very funny," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Now, what are _you _doing here?"

"Getting a book to read," she said, then added in a somewhat mocking tone, "Because this is a library, and that's what you do in libraries."

"Someone seems very aggravated today," Loki chuckled, shaking his head. "And what has irked the little spider so?"

"Nothing," Natasha lied smoothly. "I wanted a book to read. Why is it that you sense a note of conspiracy in everything people do?"

Loki noticed, with grim satisfaction, that two pink splotches were burned into each of her cheeks. Obviously something had happened to deeply irritate her. Her palms also had crescent moons in them; the aftermath of fingernails biting too sharply into the flesh. The rapid heaving of her chest also signified that she had ran from something, or someone. However, Loki knew that if he interrogated her about this now, he'd receive a slap in the face and nothing worthwhile. It was better to continue with ordinary conversation, and then pop the grating question that nagged at him later on, when she was calmer.

"No," Loki responded, smiling, "I only sense a note of 'conspiracy' in _you, _Natasha. Just you."

He followed her to an aisle in the back of the library, her hips swaying almost provocatively, and he had to remind himself to focus on her brilliantly hued locks, not her vivacious assets located a bit farther down.

As she swung in front of a delectable shelf, her eyes roaming the titles, she said, "Why do you sense this within me?"

"Is this a joke? You are, aren't you, the _Black Widow? _Isn't it your job to instigate and look for trouble?"

"I don't look for trouble," she said, tipping a book down from the shelf with the tip of a finger, a cloud of dust blooming from the now open space. "Trouble seems to find me. As for instigating it, I feel as if you're describing aspects of your own personality."

"You mean to say you've never started any trouble?" Loki asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hasn't everyone?" she muttered, staring at him.

"Well, of course. It's human nature."

"You're not human."

"I know."

"It's not just '_human nature,' _then," Natasha said. "It's entropy that's found in every living thing in the universe. Perfection is not meant to be built in to anyone's system. That's how nature works, and so, when you say that I 'instigate trouble', you're simply stating that I'm doing things I'm meant to do anyways."

"You're generalizing the statement," Loki pointed out, "But, I _guess _you could be right. Surprisingly enough, Thor has actually caused a handsome amount of trouble as well."

She shrugged. "I'm just stating truths, Loki. And saying that Thor has caused damage doesn't clean up the messes you made."

"I _know _that. But everyone sees him as a saint," he said, extending his hand outwards.

"I don't think he's a saint. No one is."

He was quiet as she read the synopsis on the back of the hardcover book she held in her palm. She put it back on the shelf, and started walking back out again.

"What was the point of that visit?" Loki asked, a bit confused. She basically just walked in, spent ten seconds scanning some random book, and then now was ready to depart. What an odd sort of woman; it _did _make him wonder if she really craved disorder and trouble _that _much to banter with him. Although, he supposed, it _was _a pretty entertaining thing to do in its entirety.

She shrugged. "See you later."

"I think," Loki said, referring to her bland response of 'nothing' when he asked her what was wrong when she first entered the library, "That you came to the library for an escape, and you were forced to converse with me and act as if you intended to come here. I know your ruse."

The slam of the door as she left was unexpectedly loud.

He was now incredibly confused. He expected her to snap back at him with something snarky, but, _no, _she simply slammed the door like an angered _child. Women _in general were like a puzzle that could never be solved. Asgardian women, granted, were far more intelligent than any mundane human, _but, _they were both prone to irrational actions, and strange, irascible moments directed towards the male race that inevitably sparked intrigue. He supposed that was part of the reason why men continued chasing after women, no matter how exasperating they got to be: it was a _challenge, _and there was _always _satisfaction in winning.

Loki knew from the moment Natasha stormed in the library that something was off, and he had the faintest of ideas _why. _He knew he'd pry an appeasing piece of information from her soon.

* * *

Apparently, Stark had an indoor arboretum on the top level of his floor, and since, as it came into her sight, it was quite girly, Pepper probably had the most input into the building procedure of it. The ceiling had dark green forest carpeting attached to it, with three golden cages encasing pale yellow flowers, that trickled from between the bars and spiraled down, halfway to touching the floor. Smoothly paved bushes lined the way, leading to a brilliant melange of variously colored flowers, of every hue imaginable. And, at one section, happened to be a garden devoted primarily to roses: They hung off their bushes, and from the ceiling; the trellis lining the vine covered wall was enlaced with them. Rose petals brushed the floor, and, the marble bench located in the middle of it all had a singular rose placed atop the surface.

It was romantic, in a way, but to Natasha, it was a tranquil place where she could conduct her business meetings in private. She always had the weird sense that people walking by her door could hear her clearly, although she wasn't the loudest talker, and the walls were reasonably thick. But still, she always had the fear that people were out to get her, and expose her secrets- even her _friends. _She had a hard time believing people when they said she could trust them, in fact, whenever people _did _say that, she immediately believed the opposite.

To say that she was paranoid was a bit of an understatement. She felt awkward digressing missions, files, and various other appointments with her boss, Fury, in front of the others, or even in danger of any tangible earshot. No, no. She wanted her utmost privacy.

Also, almost no one came to the arboretum; the Avengers were more in favor of hitting the billiard room, or crashing in the lobby and having a good share of bad television and Budweiser. Here, she felt _almost _assured, even after scoping out the entire room to make sure there was no one lurking behind the tall bushes, or in any secret departments or anything like that.

Her comlink started beeping, signaling an incoming call, and she pressed 'receive.' At that moment, Fury's stoic figure appeared on her hologram feed.

"Ms. Romanoff," Fury greeted her.

"Director Fury," she responded, her tone just as formal as his.

"How's everything going over there?"

She filled him in on pretty much everything; how the Avengers were faring, and various departures to different places.

"I've got everything ready for my mission to Tokyo next week," she said.

"You do realize that Thor's going to Asgard next week, right?"

"No, he's headed there in _two _weeks. That's what he said."

"Well, things are happening, apparently, and he needs to get his ass there sooner rather than later."

"How does this involve me, exactly?"

"Look, we know Thor relatively, but we know almost nothing about the place he came from," Fury explained. "Asgard is still one giant clusterfuck of an enigma, and, may I add, it's an _alien planet_. Books, movies, all these adaptations have spawned from this kind of apprehension and awe for the unknown. And finally, we've found a piece of that unknown. You reading me?"

"Yes," Natasha replied, listening adeptly.

"We haven't met with the leaders of Asgard yet, and, it'd be nice if one of my most trustworthy employees went and conversed with them, and then brought me back viable data. I need information, and I'd like to have it soon. Plus, while Thor has many great intentions, he is a bit too emotionally attached to his bro-"

"Isn't that typical of all sibling relations?" Natasha asked.

"Well, yeah, but that's not what I _meant. _I mean, he may be a bit too nice, and not have Loki on a tight enough leash on Asgard. We can't exactly mandate and watch him from all the way across the universe. _But, _as I said, we need _someone _to go, and keep watch over him, cause I know Thor's going to be a hell of a lot busy there, what, with his interplanetary relations and shit."

"You want me to go there," Natasha said, briefly remembering the half-hearted promise she'd made to Loki the other day.

"Precisely," Fury said.

"I can do that," Natasha said, her heart rate intensifying immensely, "But, what about Tokyo?"

"I'll send Clint. He's capable of doing stuff too."

_Clint. _His name sent a wave of frustrating emotion over Natasha, and she wanted no part of it. She changed the subject.

"So, should I consult with Thor, or…"

"Yeah. Do that. I don't know how you're getting there, though, that's the thing," Fury said. "Thor acted like he had it all figured out."

"Thor told me the Rainbow Bridge was broken," Natasha said, "And Loki taunted him once about using dark magic to get to Earth. So, I'd like to receive some answers myself."

"Doesn't everybody," Fury said dryly. "Now, I'll talk to you again soon- make sure the Trickster stays out of trouble."

"Will do," Natasha said.

"Oh, one more thing…tonight's that gala, I don't think you forgot about that."

"No. I didn't."

"How you feelin' about that?"

"Well…" said Natasha, unsure of what to say. She actually hated social gatherings like that, and since she was a part of the Avengers team, paparazzi would be swarmed around her. She loathed these sort of things, and only went if she absolutely had to.

"You're off the hook," Fury said, and he smiled a little on the hologram.

"I am?" said Natasha, incredulously.

"Yeah, on once condition."

"Loki?" she said.

"You read my mind."

"It's fine," she replied, and shrugged. And it _was _fine. He wasn't horrible company, after all.

"Well, good luck," Fury said. "By the way, don't talk to Loki about the trip. Just ease his mind a bit so he's not resentful from over-talking about it. Obviously the guy isn't happy about going."

"I'll keep that in mind." Natasha then shut off her comlink.

_боже мой_.

* * *

Loki was unsure of what to make of the hubbub going on at Stark Towers. Apparently, the Avengers were going to an elegant gala, which meant that they would make toasts to the citizens, give anecdotes, and basically stand there looking pretty, while a million people snapped photos. It was incredibly, horribly pretentious. None of them were really all that heroic anyway; the feats that they did were performed not for honor, or altruism, but rather a desire to be admired and placed on a pedestal by the submissive people of Midgard. He _knew _that Thor probably couldn't wait to go to the gala, he'd simper at each and every camera passing his way, and have more than a few drinks with every comely woman who strutted past him. He was _sure _of it.

Thor had the nerve to knock on his door earlier, but Loki immediately flopped down onto his bed and pretended to sleep. He did not want to be bothered by the gigantic oaf, and preferred to suppress himself within the superfluous sheets that were splayed across the bed. He'd waited an hour, perhaps more, making sure that they were completely gone.

Sitting up, he realized with much dismay, that he was losing his touch. He _needed _to make some sort of mischief, to pull some prank that would guarantee an annoyed scream from the victim, and most of all, he needed to get his powers back.

It was what made things exciting. When he had his powers, he could transform glasses of wine into snakes, roads into ice-cream, poplars into piñatas; really, it was endless. Of course, it was just silly fun, but now, he felt as if he could not do so anymore.

Oh, no. He could _not _afford to think this way. When a man starts doubting himself, then all of his convictions become mistruths, and his mind fries into a dreary puddle. He did not want this to happen to him. Had he become soft? No, no, he would not, _could not, _become soft like Thor had- all because of that _woman. _

Oh, he seriously doubted that Thor had any real emotional connection to her; after all , it was _Thor,_ after all- whom wasknown universally as a womanizer, his lap open to any whore willing to sit upon it. Of course, he knew that if he said this to Thor, he'd end up pinned to the floor with Mjolnir on top of his stomach, but _still. _It'd be funny just to see the reaction.

He could make the case, supposedly, that Natasha had made him so 'soft' but it was an absurdity, seeing as she was not soft, or weak herself. He respected her, to a certain degree, but he'd never let that slip to her.

There was a knock on the door, and he froze, wondering who it could be. Wasn't everyone at the gala? However, there wasn't much hesitation over the matter as he practically ran to the door in haste to see who it was.

As he opened it, he saw Natasha, who had a beguiling smirk plastered on her pretty face.

"Hi," she said.

"I thought all of you were at the gala," he said.

"You think they'd really leave you here alone?" Natasha said.

"I am a trustworthy person, am I not?" Loki replied, beaming down at her.

"That's a joke."

"So, they hired you to chaperone me?"

"Basically. _But, _we don't have to stay here."

"That's reassuring," Loki said. "Are we headed to Central Park again?"

"No, I have a better idea," Natasha said, "Or, well, it might not be. It depends."

Loki wrinkled his brow. "What is it?"

"Do you know how to skate?"

* * *

Within the span of ten minutes, the duo tugged on their coats and shoes, and made their way outside of Stark Towers. It was odd, Loki thought, how well they were getting along- for now, anyways. He hadn't said anything _yet _that infuriated Natasha, and she hadn't made her usual sardonic jabs at him over his current state. It was almost…_nice. _Loki half wondered if she was trying to bribe him, to goad him into coming to Asgard, although her 'bribes' were uncertain. She asked him if he knew how to skate, and he didn't. She said that she skated a bit as a child in Russia, but that was a long time ago, and her movements would be faulty. It was guaranteed to be amusing, Loki thought, to see them trip up and slam into each other and such. He just hoped that he wouldn't fall too hard and suffer any perilous injuries. Although, it's _just _ice- ice was a part of his heritage, right?

As they walked down the sidewalk, Loki noticed, as usual, that the residents of the area were hustling past him with a noticeable speed.

"Why is everyone in such a hurry _all _the time?" he asked.

"People are always like that in cities," Natasha explained, "If people were slow, then nothing would get done, I guess."

"You raise an excellent point."

In the city, it was now nightfall, and the lights bordering the streets cast them in a pleasant glow. Loki noticed that the golden light made some of the tendrils of Natasha's hair appear blonde.

"What?" said Natasha, noticing that Loki was staring at her.

"Nothing. So, where are we going skating?"

"You'll see."

Within a short while, they had arrived at a place named Rockefeller Center. It was surrounded by a plethora of flags, all representing different countries throughout the world. Looking down on it, he realized that it was an ice rink, with a large gilded statue decorating it.

"You up for this?" Natasha said, smiling.

"It _could _be fun…"

"Don't be a wimp," she said, poking his side. "I think I'm a better skater than you, anyway, so I'll help you along."

"_You'll _help _me _along?"

"I'll help you along, yes."

"I don't need your help."

"Whatever you say," she said, shaking her head in amusement as his defiant response.

They gave their shoe sizes at the desk in the area for borrowing skates; Loki was uncertain of his shoe size, so, he had to take one off and analyze it, all the while, Natasha trying to hold back laughter at the oddity of him hopping around on one foot, trying to yank his sneaker off.

They grabbed their skates, and made their way over to a bench so they could slide them on. Loki tries jamming his foot into one, but it wouldn't go.

"These-Midgardian-contraptions-are-so-fucking- _annoying,_" he growled, trying to peel back the tongue of the shoe.

"Lemme get it," Natasha said, laughing, and loosened the laces of the skate with a brisk movement of her hand. "There. That's all."

Her meddling with the laces helped tremendously, and he managed to get it on with little difficulty. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"You know, for someone who's pretty strong, it's funny how you have trouble putting on skates."

"You think me strong?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Her hair provided as a curtain over her face as she tied her own skate. "Never said you weren't."

His slight satisfied grin went unnoticed by her, thankfully, and they finished adjusting their skates in silence.

They finally stood up, and it was an awkward movement, as they were balancing not too greatly on their unsteady skates. They began clunking out, and both had to suppress the urge to lean on the other; not in a 'romantic' way, but so to prevent falling over.

On the rink, Loki noticed with grim dissatisfaction, at the obscene amount of people gliding across the ice, with a measure of expertise. A couple skated by the entrance holding hands, laughing.

_Disgusting. _

"I thought we left all of that romance blasphemy back in Paris," he snapped.

"Cheer up. I could've left your ass back at Stark Tower, where you would've spent two hours moping."

"I _don't _mope. I know how to have fun."

"Show me, then," she said, raising an eyebrow.

With a sudden movement, he grabbed her wrist, and stepped onto the ice, with mock confidence.

"Um, Loki, wha-" Natasha was cut off as he tugged her forward, which was a bad mood on his part, because it caused them to crash down directly on their bottoms on the ice.

Loki got up unsteadily, the back of his jeans now soaked, and icy cold.

"C'mon up," Natasha said. and he looked upwards to find that she had already gotten up, her face red with exertion.

She extended a hand towards him, and he grudgingly accepted it. "Let's leave," he said lowly.

"No, no, we're not leaving. It's fun, I promise. You were just a bit too quick."

He clung onto her involuntarily, not wanting to fall _again _and suffer embarrassment. His hands grasped the fabric of her coat, and her hands gripped his arms firmly, keeping him balanced. From this angle, he could see the way her eyelashes graced her cheek every time she blinked.

"How'd you get up?" he muttered, holding on to her tighter as one skate wobbled against the ice, wrapping his right arm around her body, subsconsciously holding her closer to him.

"The railing," Natasha said, seemingly comfortable with the closeness of Loki to her. "I used to fall all the time as a kid. Just hold on, okay? Just try it."

He looked at her, her green eyes almost pleading.

"Okay," he said.

"Good. Now, stand with your feet more apart."

He did so.

"Now, grab my hand, and let go of my coat."

Shakily, he slid his right arm away from her back, and found her hand, which he squeezed gratefully.

"You know what, it might serve better to link elbows," she said, and transitioned smoothy to gripping his elbow.

"Now, it's a one two motion," she said, demonstrating with her skates as she scraped them against the ice.

"One-two-" he muttered, trying to mimic her motion.

"Precisely. You ready to go now?"

"Well…"

"I think you are."

She tugged the reluctant Loki a bit more, slowly, and he found, with great happiness, that they were moving, not flailing.

Thank the gods.

"This is not too bad," he admitted.

A little boy skirted past them, his hands clasped behind his back.

"How-" he began, but Natasha interjected, and said,

"Look at that guy." She pointed over to the railing, where there was thirty something year old man clutching on to the railing.

"Oh, that's embarrassing," Loki chuckled.

"That was your position literally two minutes ago."

"Lucky you're here," he replied.

"Oh, I know. You wouldn't even be having this wholesome experience if I wasn't here."

"You forced me to go."

"You secretly like it. I've figured out your ruse, Loki."

"Which is…?"

"You're having a good time every time we go out. You don't like to admit it, cause you want to keep up the veneer of, 'I'm from Asgard, and everything here is monkey shit compared to there.'"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't that."

"Oh-kay. You know, you're not too bad of company. I wouldn't have dreamed of us ice skating together previously."

"Oh, I know, especially because you're a _mortal," _he said, in a mock-condescending tone.

"Oh, I know, especially because you're a _serial killer,_" she retorted, in her own mock-condescending tone.

"Hey," he snapped, going forward a bit faster than necessary.

"Slow down, crazy," she said, tugging on his arm, which was effective.

"You're clearly the crazy one for taking _me _out to ice-skating," he said.

"I never said I wasn't."

"Good point. You're up and close with the enemy."

"Eh, you're pretty benign by now."

"Oh? You know, you seem very keen on exploring New York City," he said. "Some love affair."

"Snipers like to have fun too," she reasoned.

"You don't smile very much."

"I believe I do," she said, almost haughtily. "I'm smiling right now."

As he looked at her, she flashed him a toothsome smile.

"That doesn't change anything," he said.

"You need to work on your smiles, as well."

"I smile all the time, you're ridiculous."

"The majority are either fake, or meaning that you're plotting to do something dastardly."

"I think that description fits _you _perfectly."

"Nice try pinning that on me, Loki."

They made two circles around the ice rink, and weirdly enough, Loki did not feel too odd attached to Natasha like he was currently, and she obviously didn't feel weird either. They made more small talk circulating around the ice rink, and, he didn't fall, which was definitely a plus. By the time they got off the ice, their faces were glowing crimson from the exercise, and they both had genuine smiles on their faces.

They peeled off their skates, and returned them. Loki breathed a sigh of relief at having released his feet from the confines of those torturous skates.

"So, all in all, what'd you think?" Natasha asked.

"I liked it," he said, carefully.

"Good."

"You seem to know what you were doing."

"I'm surprised, actually. I guess I still kept that knack."

They left the center, and as they were walking back to Stark Towers, Loki noticed a hot-dog vendor.

"I've always wanted to try one of those," he said.

"You? _You _want to try something new?"

"Yes. Why is that so odd to you?"

"Seeing as I've had to coerce you into everything, it's a little bit…out of character."

"I'm curious." He shrugged.

At the vendor, the man behind the counter asked him if he wanted a regular dog, or a chili-cheese dog, and the type of condiments he'd like: mustard, ketchup, relish. Loki's face adopted a confused expression, and Natasha decided to order for him. She got two hotdogs, with mustard, ketchup, and relish smeared on both.

As they were walking away, Loki peered down at his hot-dog with a strange expression on his face. "What on Midgard are these green specks…" He flicked at one of the pieces of relish.

"It's relish. Just chopped up pickles."

"Pickles…?"

Natasha wanted to groan. But instead, she calmly explained that they tasted sour and sweet.

"Why would I want something sour _and _sweet? That sounds vulgar."

"Loki, _just try it._"

"But, I don't know what half these things are!"

"It doesn't matter."

"How could that not-" Natasha took her hotdog and crammed it into his mouth. It was sort of messy, and it caught him completely off guard, but, after getting over that initial shock, he chewed the food contemplatively, and swallowed. There was a blob of mustard above his mouth in a faux moustache, and she handed him a napkin she'd grabbed so he could wipe it off.

"I can't believe you did that. You're a degenerate fit to wallow in the dirt!"

"I'm just so terrified," she deadpanned.

"Why would you do that?"

"You wouldn't shut up."

Silence ensued for a couple of minutes, but, she finally said, "I know you liked it."

"Maybe," he admitted, shooting her a death glare.

"Victory is mine," she said, smirking at him.

Back at the Stark Tower, he thanked her for the evening in a formal way, and she answered back just as formally.

As chance would have it, he was by himself in the kitchen, (they'd both gone there to get water; it was amazing how hotdogs could dry out your throat) left to his own devices. Pranks were fun, weren't they?

He began rooting through the various drawers, hoping to find something worthwhile, that would guarantee anger, and greater annoyance. In one of the top cabinets, he found a thick tube full of super glue. As he grabbed it, and was reading the label, he perched himself on a stool in the kitchen, and waited.

After an hour, he heard the familiar _bing _that signaled people coming into the lobby (the noise went all throughout the tower), and so, spread a thin line of glue on the refridgerator door handle, on the chairs in the kitchen, on all of the handles on the drink cabinets, and lastly, on the toilet in the bathroom.

His work for the night was done.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**So, this is the longest chapter I've ever written...over 6,000 words. Extra long because I love you guys :)**

**Silly Loki completely forgot to ask Natasha about her bad mood earlier. :p Clarifying this here in case people wonder why he didn't. **

**Thank you dearly to the people who favorited & followed my story. You guys keep me going strong.**

**Thank you to my lovely reviewers for chapter 14:**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**-H. Lokidottir**

**-applecoral**

**-Danzig and Hildanski**

**-ladyofstayne**

**You guys are awesome! :)**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	16. Fight From The Inside

"That was…not too bad," Banner admitted, fingering the violet tie that lay against his white collared shirt. "Even with the lights flashing, and whatnot."

"Good thing it was 'not too bad'," Steve said, "That wouldn't have been a good time."

"Eh, but hey, he could've easily been the newest YouTube sensation," Tony chimed in, winking behind Bruce's back, as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"What's YouTube…?" Steve asked, perplexed by the unfamiliar term, which must have been some sort of a colloquialism.

"Y'know…it's this website, that you get to from, what's called the Internet…which is on a computer…" Tony trailed off when he realized that Steve was staring at him like he was speaking Chinese. "Okay, well, obviously you have yet to discover what a typewriter is, so…"

"I'm not _that _old-"

"_Thor _knows how to use the Internet. And he's from a different fucking planet!"

"I find the Midgardian device to be rather confusing," Thor reasoned, trying to be fair, "I do not happen to think I am even using it correctly."

"How could you not know how to use the Internet correctly?!" Clint suddenly chimed in, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm from a different planet?" Thor said, raising his hands up in mock-surrender.

"Hey, speaking of different planets…how's your, uh, psychotic brother?" Clint asked, crossing his arms.

"I don't know. Last time I checked on him, he was sleeping." Thor did not like the titles Clint constantly thrust upon his brother, but he had stopped arguing against it: he was lucky that Tony Stark was so hospitable, and let Loki have a guest chamber.

"Yeah. 'Sleeping'," Tony said, rolling his eyes.

"What are you inferring, Stark?" Thor asked.

Before Stark could bite back with a sarcastic remark, Clint said, "Am I the only one who wants Loki out of here, or-"

"No, no you're not," Tony said, raising a hand to concur.

"We shall be heading back to Asgard very soon," Thor said, "There are some familial issues."

"And, oh, wait, what the hell is going on between Natasha and Loki?" Clint suddenly said, bringing up a subject that had been nagging at him since Day One.

"Their sexual tension is quite uncomfortable. They need to get a room…outside of my house…in a different country…in a different continent…in a different galaxy…" Tony said, trailing off. "Although, and I'll say this seriously, I don't think Natasha would want to bring the guy to the sack. I mean, he's kinda sorta fucking crazy."

"It's pretty admirable that she was okay watching over him while we were at the gala," Steve piped in.

"He does not wish to bed her," Thor growled, "They are friends-"

"_Friends? _They're _friends?!__" _ Clint chortled, "What other things will we be saying tonight, has Donald Trump decided to donate money to orphans? Has the national debt miraculously dissipated? Have pigs begun to fly? Have-"

"Hate to tell you, Legolas, but hanging out with someone willingly, and having fun with them- you're kinda bound to become friends. It's weird as shit, though," Tony pointed out. "She doesn't seem like the type of person you'd want to become buddy buddy with, and well, Loki…"

"Brain's a bag full of cats," Bruce said, repeating the popular phrase he so often attributed to Loki.

"You flung him around like a bag full of cats," Steve said, shaking his head.

"But, legitimately, no one else wants to even be around Loki, but yet, she's _willing _to? Jesus Christ. I don't understand why she's so attracted to him."

"They're alike in a variety of ways. Loki isn't an apathetic brute like you make him out to be on a daily basis," Thor snapped, "He has emotions, and she does as well."

"Okay, okay, Mr. Sentimental, tell me how the _fuck _they're alike."

"Yeah, I'd like to know," Tony said, laughing.

"They're both wounded on the inside, and both have done things to compensate for that, to heal," Thor explained.

"Natasha didn't exactly seem very sympathetic towards his feats on Earth," Clint argued.

"Isn't Natasha a world class assassin? I seriously doubt she spends her nights playing Scrabble and watching Sesame Street," Tony said.

"She's done bad things…she was up on Shield's most wanted for a little while, and…" Clint said, trailing off.

"They are kind of alike in that way, though," Steve said, "Except Natasha's not insane."

"She could have lost her way of reason, though, just like Loki did. He's not a bad person, he's horribly misguided," Thor said.

"Nat was influenced by the serum, it wasn't her _fault," _Clint said, his voice rising in tenor.

"Loki was influenced by the Tesseract, it was not his _fault," _Thor retorted, placing as much emphasis on the word 'fault' as Clint did.

Clint's face turned an aggressive shade of violet, and he said, "Loki might've been influenced slightly, but he knew what he was doing."

"I bet Natasha knew what she was doing as well," Thor said, taking a step towards Clint.

Tony and Bruce watched this with wide eyes, and Steve stepped forward, serving as a blockade between the two men, whose anger levels were rising rapidly.

"Look…we had a pretty successful evening, we met with fans, we got to see all of these people, and talk with them at the gala. Let's not ruin it," Steve said.

"This isn't over with Tasha," Clint said, itching for the final word. Thor stared back at him, exhausted with the seemingly never ending stamina the infuriating mortal had, who seemed to be the one who enjoyed taking jabs at Loki more than the rest of them did.

"I'm getting a drink," Tony said, and placed a hand on the drink cabinet, and swung it open. After taking out a bottle of Chardonnay, he closed the cabinet, and found, with immense frustration that his hand was…_stuck_ to the handle.

"What kind of fuckery is this, my hand's stuck," Tony said. He wrenched his hand sharply, but it did not come loose.

"Seems like Loki got a hold of the super glue," Clint said, picking up the discarded tube left carelessly on the table.

"He's left some on the frid-" Steve began, but then his eyes popped open, and he didn't finish his sentence.

Banner had opened the fridge, and pulled out a jug of water. As he closed the fridge, he attempted to dislodge his palm from the handle, but couldn't.

Time went by very slowly, as all stared at him with scarcely hidden panic, silence filling the room. One could hear a pin drop. Tony, especially, began frantically trying to rip his hand off of the drink cabinet's handle, bathed with immense desperation.

"My hand's stuck," Banner muttered, stating the obvious, and trying to wrench his hand back.

The elevator dinged at that moment, and Pepper stepped out, clad in a robe and slippers. After the Avengers had arrived, and began talking, she had slipped out and went to her room to shower and go to bed. But, after waiting for Tony for quite a while, she decided to head to the kitchen and see what was holding him back.

Her eyes shot wide open, staring at the predicament they were in. The Avengers had found it funny when Tony's hand had become stuck, at first, but now, with Banner's hand stuck as well, it had gone from comical to frightening.

"Pepper," Tony said, "I think you should go back to your room now." He swallowed, unsure of whether Banner would freak out or not. He didn't want Pepper to get hurt.

"Tony, it's okay," she said, taking a timid step forwards.

"Guys, I'm fine," Banner insisted. "Really."

"What the hell happened?" Pepper asked, her eyebrows furrowing at Tony's demand.

"_Someone, _and by _someone, _I mean some asshole who happens to be Thor's best 'buddy', has put super glue on fucking _everything," _Tony explained, irritation seeping into the tone of his voice.

Pepper laughed at the absurdity of it all, trying to placate the situation, and said, "It's no big deal. I'll find a solution to get you guys out of this debacle." She pulled out her cellphone from one of her robe pockets, and began tapping away with a fingernail.

"What are you doing?" Steve muttered, craning his neck to see.

"Googling a solution."

"Can you stop staring at me like I'm an art exhibit? I'm fine," Banner insisted once more, sighing at his friends, who were greatly overreacting, and exaggerating the benign situation.

"So, Banner, the weather," Tony started, "I think it's nice."

"Don't treat me like that. I _said _I'm fine."

"He said he's fine, you heard the man," Steve said, glaring at Tony.

"For a group of the smartest people in the world, you can be pretty dumb sometimes," Pepper interjected, glaring at them sharply.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that Loki superglued everything?" Tony whined.

"How can you be so certain it's my brother?" Thor growled.

"Who else could it be?!" Tony said, incredulously.

"He was not the only soul in this building prior," Thor pointed out.

"Natasha wouldn't do something so immature and childish," Clint snapped, his gaze stoic.

"Your behavior is quite immature and childish," Thor bantered.

A sheen of sweat broke out upon Bruce's brow, and he began wiggling his hand furiously, trying to escape the clenches of the glue.

"Are you trying to pick a fight? You're doing a great job at that," Clint said, his hands curling into fists.

"A fight? It'd be more or less a massacre, I would end your puny life by simply flicking your shoulder," Thor said, eyeing Clint with a supercilious gaze.

"You don't have your dumbass hammer, though," Clint said.

"Oh, you just committed a no-no," Tony said, chuckling.

"Pepper, have you found any results yet?" Steve asked, almost frantically.

"The Internet is going really slow," Pepper said, and began tapping at the screen in a futile attempt to get it to load faster.

"Tony, you're a billionaire genius, why is your 'Internet' moving at the speed of a snail?" Steve asked.

Tony, however, was too absorbed with watching Clint and Thor bicker to respond to Steve's question.

"I could bend you in half like a blade of _grass-"_

"_Ooh, _I'm so _intimidated, _by someone who has longer hair than most girls I know, and-"

"Your mother raised you on hoe-cakes-"

"You're a _hoe-"_

"You're in love with Natasha, that's why you are so bitter-"

"I am _not _in love with her, I think you're in love with _Loki-"_

"You are _disgusting, _he is my _brother-"_

"No, he's not, that's why he hates you-"

"He does not _hate _me-"

"We-ell-"

"STOP THE FIGHTING," Banner yelled, shaking, his face red. His booming voice sliced through the cacophony of the argument, and diminished it to an echo.

"I need- to- get-out-_now-_" he stammered, struggling even harder than before.

"Okay, okay, the Internet has loaded, and I'm typing it in now," Pepper said, her tone urgent, trying to soothe the irascible heat that had settled down upon them.

They all tried to subtly watch Banner, straining their peripherals, praying to any sort of god or celestial being that he wouldn't transform into the 'other guy.'

"It says to use fingernail polish remover," Pepper said, "I'll be right back, lemme go get it." She hurriedly pressed the up button, and practically hopped into the elevator when it arrived. Once she arrived at the desired floor, she ran into her and Tony's bedroom, and immediately began rooting through their medicine cabinet to find the acetone.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Steve was looking at all of the handles that could possibly be in the kitchen; squinting his eyes to see if there were any more of the thin lines of glue.

* * *

"And…the last of the frost giants were slayed." Odin snapped the ivory bound book shut, and placed it back to its respective place on the bookshelf.

"Oh, father, I _love _that story, it's my favorite!" Thor cheered, clapping his little hands together in pure delight.

"I love it too!" Loki chirped.

"I'm very glad you enjoyed the story, my children. _But, _I hope you also understand the lesson behind it as well."

"The frost giants aren't going to come and find us, right, father?" Loki said, a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, his little mouth pursed in an O.

Before Odin could assuage any of Loki's fears, Thor piped, with his hands in fists on his hips, his chest puffed like a blowfish, "Well, if _any_ of the _frost giants _come into Asgard, I'll…I'll slay them all with my bare hands!" He mimicked what he would do by thrusting his right hand high into the air, brandishing an invisible sword, yelling, "Hi-yah!"

Loki stared at his older brother with barely disguised awe, and admiration. "So, they won't hurt us, right?"

"Oh, no," Odin chuckled, "But maybe they will if you don't eat your supper."

'I _always _eat my supper," Thor boasted, "I eat every bite."

"That's my boy! You'll grow to be a fine, _strong, _Asgardian man," Odin smiled, clapping him on the back.

"What about me? Will I grow to be a fine, strong Asgard-Asgardian man too?" Loki said, his eyes wide, and full of hope that his father's answer would satiate his question, which was spoken in a timorous voice, and backed by an innocent heart.

"Well, well, Loki, you need to be like your big brother Thor, and finish your food. _That _way you'll grow to be strong."

"Or else the frost giants will grab you!" Thor growled, thrusting a curled fist in the air once more, bombastically.

"They won't grab me, right!" Loki practically yelled, now swarmed with eminent fear.

"Only if you misbehave. They're a vile race, Loki. It's best not to anger them," Odin said, attempting to reassure his son.

"I behave, though," Loki said quietly, eyeing the book that had been recently slid into its allotted place with a strange mixture of curiosity and hatred.

"I know_. _Now, run along to bed, so they won't come. Good night." Odin placed a kiss on each of his sons' foreheads, and they scampered off to their bedrooms, Loki peeking worriedly behind him the entire way.

xxx

Loki woke from the dream, a bruise laying heavily upon his chest cavity, caused by a boiling infliction of pain, of pain that loved to strike him when he was groveling in the metaphorical dirt, when he was experiencing moments of lassitude. These nightmares loved to ravish him, to feast at any remaining confidence and courage he held within himself. The dreams wanted to _break _him, to chip away at the essence that made him a _man. _He was, just, a man now anyway- his godly powers were forsaken, his strength had evaporated. He was stuffed into the thin shell of a Midgardian, and forced to walk on a planet which held nothing invigorating, which only laughed at his misfortune.

He could not take this anymore. His pranks, his mischief…it was too little to make up for the mass of pain that had been swelling inside him from the moment he discovered his entire life was one big fat _lie. _He swung out of bed, but, instead of heading towards the bathroom to splash cool water on his face, and taking a serene walk after that, he decided it would be better to release all of his anger in a what could be considered a therapeutic way. No, he would not rely on a bottle of absinthe to numb his senses, no, he wanted his senses to be _alert _tonight.

He remembered which floor the fighting arena was located in. He had not visited it since that time he had fought beside Natasha, although not with her. It was there where he had chucked a knife at her seemingly unaware back, and she had responded by holding a barrel of a gun to his face. He hoped that if she was sleeping, that nightmares did not plague her, although it was far too optimistic to think that way. The horrors never truly went away. They were a part of him. They were a part of her. They made up why he thought what he thought, and why she thought what she thought. They explained why he did what he did, and why she did what she did. They were ingrained into their personalities; they impacted their various life decisions. The horrors were seeped permanently into their mindset. The happy memories, the lighthearted hours were almost swept away by the waves of darkness and depression; for now, Loki remembered the sanguine days as an echo, and the darkest days verbatim.

Shuddering, he made his way out from the elevator, flicking the lights on in the hallway, his figure hunched over slightly. It felt cold- oh so cold. Goosebumps pressed through his shirt, which held about as much warmth as tissue paper would. In the gym, it looked the same as always, and he, like last time, dragged a punching bag from the pile mounted against the wall, which felt even _heavier _than he had last remembered it to be.

As he hung it up, he maintained a fixated stare with the cracked leather of the bag, with tan rivets forking through the middle, branching out. It was a durable material, and Loki knew that without bandages, the skin on his knuckles would split, and bleed, but he did not _care, _he wanted something, yes something, to counteract EVERYTHING, the nightmares, oh, he did not even know where to begin, why didn't Odin ever fucking tell him who he was, why did Thor even bother-and Natasha appearing to care-no one cares-

_I HATE MYSELF. I HATE MYSELF. I HATE MYSELF. I HAVE _RUINED _MY LIFE, THERE IS NO USE TURNING BACK NOW..._

His fist slammed through the side of the bag, propelling it at a diagonal angle, sending a jolt through Loki's unsuspecting body.

He wanted his magic back. Levitating, a simple trick he learned when he was a _child, _he couldn't even do that now-

_Slam. _A slim line sighed open on the knuckles of his right hand, but he didn't even _feel _the sting.

He belonged _nowhere. Nowhere, nothing, NO ONE _wanted him around.

His left fist dealt a swift uppercut.

_Why didn't THOR HAVE THESE HARDSHIPS?! WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?_

This punch hurt, tremendously so, and trickles of blood crept down his hands, clotting in the hair dotting his arms, and dripping on the floor like an unexpected teardrop.

_I am a FROST GIANT. I DESERVED TO DIE. I WISH I WAS DEAD._

A backfist goaded his blood to flow more steadily now.

_I AM NO MAN. I AM NO ASGARDIAN. I AM…I AM…_

His hands looked like rivers cutting through a map, a patchwork of misunderstood injury, that felt sticky on his clenched fists. He sank to his knees, the bone smacking the floor sharply, but he was numb to any sort of pain now. He pressed his forehead to the bag, and tears streamed down his face. He was too exhausted to wipe them away. They felt salty as they clung to the crevices of his mouth, and the water dripped onto his hands which were clasped in his lap. What was he to do? He was supposed to return to Asgard for a brief moment to, no doubt, await _another _hearing, and listen to _another _lecture. He would face unabashed hatred from the populace; he was a _pariah. _He would have to listen to countless anecdotes about the _almighty, gracious _Thor, and he wanted NO PART OF IT.

"We seem to run into each other a lot."

At the sound of the ever so familiar voice, Loki froze, his muscles knotted into cramps, his breathing truncated. He did not dare to budge a single solidified muscle.

"Loki?" The footsteps scraped towards him.

"Leave me _alone," _he growled, hiding his tear-stained face from the Black Widow.

She did not respond. He heard her movements stop.

"Are you crying?" she asked, in a matter of fact way.

"No."

He heard her get up, and walk off in a different direction, across the gym room. He heard a door open, and he realized there must be another bathroom located in the gymnasium- the tap ran- and he heard the door shut again. He kept his eyes shut, reveling in the soothing darkness.

He heard her walk closer to him, could practically smell the vanilla scent of her, could practically feel her soft body, her slender hands, pressed against his. He felt her fingers curl around one of his blood stained fists, and he did not fight, no- he let her take his hand, and in that moment, felt something cold and wet being applied to the raw skin.

She wiped away the paths of dried blood, and swept the cloth over his abused knuckles. She said absolutely nothing, and he kept his eyes shut the entire time, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes, too embarrassed that she had caught him in this state. Why was she even doing this for him? It was the _Black Widow, _of all people. Manipulator of emotions, and professional assassin.

"Why are you doing this?" he muttered.

"I could ask the same of you, but I think I know that answer."

"You didn't answer my question."

She didn't answer, and he didn't feel like coercing her to give him one. He had never had anyone treat any form of wound for him, and here she was, silently devoting in that simple way. He did not want to anger her, and cause her to leave. He already had a plethora of people who opposed him greatly. He did not need another person to be added to that ever-growing list.

As she took his other fist, done cleaning the first, a certain sound burst the dense bubble of zen that had previously enveloped them.

It was a sound that Loki had grown ever so familiar with.

It was a sharp inhale of air, and then, with a yell booming so loud the particles that made up air shifted, and the entire building resonated, the cry heard from every living person, every inert atom.

"What-was-that-" Natasha said, her eyes scanning her surroundings, pretending like she had no clue what was going on, but…she did have a hunch. She just did not want that certain hunch to prove to be correct.

Loki swallowed, and raised his face to meet hers, a paranoid expression upon her visage.

* * *

"Okay…I've got it," Pepper said, padding across the kitchen floor, gripping an hour-glass shaped bottle in her hand.

"So…you're just going to pour that on them?" Steve asked.

"That's right," Pepper said. "I can't believe you guys. This is so ridiculous."

"_That-_" Thor said, indicating towards the nail polish remover, "Will raze the glue?"

"Will what?"

"Ignore Shakespeare," Tony said, goading Pepper with a swift motion of his eyes to free Banner before he…well…you know.

"Bruce, how are you doing?" Pepper asked, giving him a congenial smile, hoping to mollify Bruce's demeanor, which was on the precipice, seemingly teetering on the edge, towards the dark side that no one wanted to see emerge.

"Why is everyone _treating _me like this? I _have _it under control!" Bruce demanded, the pallor of his skin flush with a color resembling an overripe cranberry.

"Steve, Thor, Clint…why don't you guys go and help?" Tony suggested, trying to covertly steer Pepper away from Banner just in case. Thor and Steve were leaning against the counter, and both stepped forward, as if in preparation. Clint, on the other hand, was across from them in the kitchen, flipping through a random magazine he had found splayed on the floor.

"You worry too much," Pepper said, shaking her head slightly. She swirled the cap off, and positioned it over Bruce's hand.

At that moment, Clint found something rather amusing in the magazine, albeit trivial, and decided to saunter over to his friends, and pinpoint the delightful tidbit he'd encountered. As he made this journey, his eyes remained attached to the dog-eared page, and his feet continued moving.

However, this was not the brightest decision of his lifetime because, as he was sliding past Pepper and Bruce, he happened to knock into her, causing the bottle she was holding with loose fingers to dislodge, and send a thick splash of the caustic liquid directly into Bruce's eyes.

He screamed, agonized with the sudden chemical invasion, and the rest immediately edged forward, with Steve grabbing Pepper's arm, and shielding her behind him. Bruce, of course, saw this action, and screamed, "YOU THINK I'M SOME MONSTER?! YOU THINK- I DON'T-HAVE-CONTR-"

His olive skin transmuted to a forest green color, which began overriding the normal color, and infused itself into his eyes, ears, neck, and his face. His biceps began vibrating, and shaking, and he became one bulbous rippling movement, doubling over, grunting with the exertion. His clothes were burdened with numerous rips, and stretched across his exponentially growing body, before exploding off and collecting on the ground in various shreds.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Clint, you get Pepper out of here _now_-" Tony yelled, trying to free his hand from the handle.

"Wait-why-" Clint began, but Tony cut him off.

"YOU GET HER OUT OF THE BUILDING RIGHT THIS GODDAMN INSTANT OR I'LL PUNCTURE THREE THOUSAND HOLES ALL OVER YOUR BODY WITH EVERY SINGLE ARROW YOU FUCKING OWN!"

Clint grabbed Pepper's forearm, and they ran off towards the stairs, which were part of the routine emergency plan.

"Isn't anyone going to free Tony?" she yelled, as they descended down the multitude of stairs.

"Of course," Clint said, hoping to assuage her fears.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Thor was attempting to converse with the rapidly changing Bruce, trying to detect a peck of humanity within him. Unfortunately, it was noted that Banner could not form coherent thoughts, because the next thing they knew, the refrigerator door was torn clean off, and tossed with reckless abandon across the room, as if it were a sack of potatoes.

In this terrifying moment, Steve picked up the spilled nail polish remover bottle, and realized, with great satisfaction, that there was still some of the yellow liquid remaining. After breaking the bonds the glue held to Tony's hand, Tony broke it free, and immediately yelled for Jarvis to bring the necessary equipment to attach himself to his Ironman gear.

Tony Stark was moderately horrified at the state of his kitchen, and immensely exasperated, noting that he had spent a vast amount of time repairing the tower after Loki's attack on Manhattan. And now, it was all ruined. He regretted everything instantly. He didn't tolerate any form of bullshit, but he'd actually been _lenient _towards Thor and his hot mess of a brother, and let them _stay _in his tower. And now, what did he get? And of course, they all wanted to trust Banner, and they _could_- at least they thought. But no, the simplest of catalysts had brought the 'other guy' out, and now, they were all going to pay. Anyone who would put Pepper's life in danger was immediately placed on Tony's shit list. Thor could take his fuck-up of a brother the _hell _out of here.

And all because of a goddamn tube of super glue.

Well, not _all _because of that. Because Tony had been daft enough to let two motherfucking aliens who hated each other's guts reside in _his, _or rather, _Pepper's _baby. The worst part was, they were planning on going their separate ways for a little while to recollect their surroundings. They were _planning _on leaving, within a few short days. Of _course, _this would _have _to happen right before.

At that moment, his suit, in the form of a suitcase, came skidding across the floor, and came to a rest at his feet. He stepped into the appropriate slots that were specifically designed for his feet, and felt the comforting sensation of the thin straps of metal attaching themselves to his legs, and chest. As his helmet clicked into place, shielding his vulnerable face, he felt ready to go.

Bruce stood, newfound green brawn stretching and twisting, as he beat his fists upon his chest and roared at the heavens above, quaking where he stood.

"Now, Bruce," Steve said, stepping forward, "Why don't we-"

Bruce, with one swift movement of his fist, knocked Steve aside like an angry opponent playing chess, barreling him through one of the many windows in the room, and sending him toppling through the air, inevitably to the ground.

"I've got this," Tony said, "Thor, you make sure he doesn't leave." He propelled himself out of the now open window.

Bruce swung at Thor, but he easily side stepped the predictable move. However, Banner then lifted the entire refrigerator above his head, and threw it on top of Thor, flattening him against the floor. By the time Thor lifted the device off of his body, Banner had demolished the table, the island, and was now punching out the glass cabinets.

He realized, tapping his wrist, that he had forgotten to wear his comlink. He would just have to try very hard to keep Banner contained in the area, and prevent him from going anywhere else in the building and creating havoc.

_Where was Mjolnir? _Right. In his room as well. Unfortunately, while he did have his strength, it would be pretty difficult to triumph over the beast.

Oh, that was the problem. He was referring to Banner, the kind, pragmatic, humble man as a _beast. _He would have to try to appeal to his humane senses, to attempt to reach the man inside.

"Bruce," Thor exclaimed, ducking as a chair went flying towards his face. "I-"

In response, Bruce roared, and swung at him wildly. Thor ducked, and, sliding towards Banner, dealt him a solid punch in the gut. While this made Bruce recoil slightly, it had no real effect in actuality, and Thor realized that what he had done was not the smartest.

And then Banner advanced towards him.

* * *

The lights began to flicker in the gymnasium, and Loki and Natasha exchanged glances.

"We have to leave. Now!" Natasha said, and pulled Loki up sharply. They raced towards the stair set, breathing furiously.

"What could have possibly set Bruce off? He hasn't had an incident in the longest time."

"No clue," Loki murmured, and he practically leapt down the last two stairs, and breached the next set.

"I hope everyone's okay," Natasha said, and Loki fell silent at that. Just before they reached the stairs that accompanied the kitchen, the door leading to that certain room acquired a fist-shaped dent, and then was thrown completely off its hinges, narrowly missing hitting Natasha and Loki by a centimeter.

Standing in the doorway was the Hulk. Natasha's eyes bulged wide open, and she was brought back to that unfortunate time in the helicarrier where she'd been forced to deal with his anger.

They both ducked as Bruce, or, er, the 'other guy' swung at them, and they began thundering up the stairs they had just been descending before, his fists smashing bitter cracks into the opposing walls on each side of him, the stairs concaved inwards with each crunch his footsteps provided. Both did not look back, powered by fiery adrenaline, which coursed through their veins and pressed hard on their calves, prompting them to run as fast as they could.

Unleashing a ferocious roar, the Hulk slammed his fist into an adjacent pillar, sending plaster raining down upon Loki and Natasha. They rolled out of the way before any seriously perilous debris could fall on them, and Loki grabbed her hand tightly, a reflex.

"STOP!" Natasha suddenly yelled, which momentarily caused the Hulk to pause in his action. However, as his one footstep forward indicated that he would, in fact, _not _stop, Thor leapt out of the kitchen room, raced up that set of stairs, and jumped on the Hulk's back, which distracted him immensely, and gave Loki and Natasha the right opportune to escape.

For a while, at least.

* * *

"Oh, God," Steve breathed, on his hands and knees on the landing pad of Stark Towers. Tony had just rescued him from what would've been a quite messy death, despite his beyond average human strength skill set. It was odd, he sincerely believed for a moment that he _would _succumb to death, and his mind flashed forward to that time in the airplane, where he declared an unofficial goodbye to Peggy, and was thrown into the frozen waters, to be forgotten for seventy years.

But, midflight, his eyes fluttering shut, and trying to think of all the _good _he'd done, less bad, or weak, he felt a considerable weight wrap around his midsection, and tug him upwards, the cool metal pressing through his dress-shirt.

"Next time, Capsicle, don't mess with the big guy," Tony said, gruffly, but Steve did not retort with anything. After all, he had just saved his _life. _

Now, as he was getting up, Tony had rushed to the room accompanying the landing pad: the lobby. They heard the unnerving sounds of the building being smashed apart.

"How are we going to stop Bruce?" the Captain said, regaining his breath.

"This sounds bad…but, desperate times call for desperate measures. But, in my lab-"

"You have a lab? I thought you just worked with technology."

"It's hard to explain, but I have Ketamine kept in there- horse tranquilizer."

Steve's eyes widened, and he was about to ask Tony why he had a casual stash of horse tranquilizer, but decided to interrogate him about that later, and said, "You think that will be strong enough to stop Bruce? And what will he think when he wakes up?"

"I hope. His reaction won't matter. My goal is to make sure no one gets hurt," Tony said, and then, before blasting off, said, "Thor doesn't have his hammer thingy- it's going to be impossible to pin him down without it-"

"I know where it is, but I can't pick it up," Steve said, "Only a magnanimous soldier can."

"Look, I am not going to give you a pretty little pep talk, but you're basically a living legend, and the peoples' lives of New York City are at stake. So, figure something out…_now_," Tony said, and then, gearing up the engines built into his suit, fired off, slamming into the closed door leading to the emergency stairs.

Steve noticed, as he was walking up, that some pretty hardcore fighting had occurred in the last twenty seconds or so, the entire time he had been flying through the air. The fighting must have transferred into an actual room, because the battle cries that were currently piercing his ears were farther away, not as loud as they would be if they were in the perimeter of the stairs. As he reached the guest level, he realized, with great relief, that Thor's room was unlocked, and he pressed through.

He knew it would be entirely futile, but, the Hulk was a danger to peoples' lives at the current moment, and he was practically human himself. He would be crushed like a balloon under a spiked cleat. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he knew that, but _this? _That was like asking him to pick up the moon on his back and bring it to Earth.

Why was he even doing this? This was the impossible. But, he always had a sliver of useless hope within him.

On the dresser, almost casually propped up on the dresser, lay Mjolnir, the light in the room glinting off the handle.

Steve stood over it, his breath hitched in his throat, and positioned his fingers above it, willing himself to grasp it, just quick, he _knew _he wouldn't be able to do it, after all. It was worth a try, just one ridiculously stupid try.

He gripped the handle, then, his fingers adjusting to the strange sensation, which sent a jolt of palpable electricity coursing through his body.

He shut his eyes, and knew that no more time should be wasted…could be wasted. He raised his hand to itch a scratch which had suddenly blossomed above an eyebrow, and then froze.

The hand he has raised was clutching Mjolnir, and he realized, with immense unbelieving, unrelenting awe-

He had picked it up.

* * *

Tony found, buried beneath stashes of prosaic (to him at least) shit he did not need, the navy suitcase which beheld over fifty syringes, all full of Ketamine. Fury had, once Tony accepted the Avengers staying in the towers, demanded that Tony receive some sort of protection in case Bruce morphed into his undesirable alter-ego. Tony then had gotten, by mail, a shitload of Ketamine, and it was two hundred times more potent than the stuff you inject horses with, or what dumbasses inject themselves at shady clubs with. He had told Steve it was horse tranquilizer, but in truth, it would probably _kill _a horse. He just didn't have time to explain all of the background information, as currently there was a huge green rage monster tearing his project in half- a project he and Pepper had labored on. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind with relative ease, however, when he realized just how many people were in danger.

Toting the entire case (he wasn't sure how many would be necessary, and an incorrect estimate would be fatal), he flew towards the source of the vibrant noise, neglecting any care for the walls he had helped build, and the various decorations Pepper had picked up, and he had manually installed.

The sight that he came to was not exactly welcome. Thor was currently being given a free ride on a carousel, except, that carousel happened to be Hulk's over-amplified hunk of arm muscle, which he clung onto sharply, as the Hulk then proceeded to bop him up and down like a rag doll.

Thor hoped he wasn't about to meet Loki's fate.

"_Hey-" _Tony said, and then immediately ducked to the side as the Hulk decided to use Thor as a human baseball.

Thor hit the wall outside of the doorway, and crashed down with a dull thud, although not hurt severely.

Tony yelled towards Thor, who raised his head, and then outstretched his hands when Tony threw the suitcase towards him.

"Open it!"

Tony then wondered, where the hell Steve was, and what was taking him so long.

Thor entered the room, holding a syringe, and threw it with full speed at the Hulk's back. It became lodged in a stretch of muscle, but the anesthetic did not hinder his movements in the slightest.

In fact, when the Hulk comprehended that they were trying to sedate him, he became a furious windmill of lashing arms, almost slapping Thor and Tony in the face simultaneously.

"Hey guys," a voice said from the door, and Thor and Tony turned to see who the visitor was.

And, it was Steve, him gripping the handle of Mjolnir, his face dumbstruck.

Thor gaped, "You- you picked up _Mjolnir? _I did not believe a simple mortal could-"

The Hulk's fist smashed Thor into the wall, cutting off his sentence.

"That always seems to happen," Tony grumbled, referring to Hulk's wont of punching the shit out of Thor.

Steve outstretched Mjolnir towards Thor, which was pulled to his hand like a gravitational force. Thor pressed off from the pads of his feet, and, while in the air, threw the hammer at Hulk, which, ended up pinning his hand to the floor. The Hulk growled, and attempted extracting his trapped hand, to no avail.

Tony, flying around, took on himself the dangerous task of sticking the Hulk with the syringes, avoiding his wrath to the best of his ability. After seven syringes, it appeared as though the Hulk's movements were slowing, and his roars were more or less soporific yawns. Finally, after ten, his eyes slammed shut, and he thudded onto the floor, leaving a Hulk-sized crater beneath him. Slowly, his body began transforming back to Bruce's, his pants engorging most of his now much smaller form.

"Jesus," Tony exhaled, sitting down, and letting his visor open, exposing his face.

The others added their own agreeing murmurs.

* * *

**Author's note: He-ey, early update! :)**

**I really hope this chapter didn't come off as well...stupid, in lack of a better term. I say this because this all started due to super glue, but, I'm a firm believer in that small things can lead to disasters. History has proven that to be true as well.**

**And yes, I believe that Steve would be able to pick up Mjolnir...after all, only those who are worthy can pick it up.**

**This chapter was extraordinarily long, 7,000 words- my longest chapter. The next chapters will cool down to my usual length, which is around 5,000 I believe. This chappie was Avengers packed, and I hoped that it didn't sound too silly with all of the separate conversations.**

**I'm also aware that I'm making Clint out to be a jerk, and I'll try to calm that down. **

**Loki and Natasha will have plenty of interaction in the next chapter, which should be up fairly soon because I've got it all planned out.**

**As usual, thank you dearly to all of the people who added me to their favorites and follows. I appreciate it dearly.**

**Thank you very much to the following people for reviewing:**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**-Sai-Uchiha**

**-Rose of Ice**

**I love reviews very very much, so don't be shy to leave one! ;)**

**Until then,**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	17. Feelings, Feelings

Natasha and Loki were now walking down the boulevard that led them to the _Sushi House_, so it was a familiar setting. The Stark Tower was still very prominent in their peripherals. After Banner had almost decapitated them, they had ran, frantically down each flight of stairs, barely noticing the aching pain flaring in their legs, their hearts sputtering, and ready to stop beating altogether. By the time they had flung themselves outside, they were not, thankfully, surrounded by the usual cluster of people who frequented the sidewalks. It was late, after all, and a human appearance was scarce. Both were so exhausted by this point that they felt like collapsing, and curling into the fetal position.

Natasha hated the feeling of being helpless, but, against Banner, it was completely useless. Her arduous years of training in various martial arts departments would have no effect on him, and her plethora of weapons she kept hidden beneath her suit would just make him angrier. A main goal was just to get out. She learned this back at the helicarrier. Her words meant nothing to Banner, and it was just better for her to duck and get out of the way, things she was not accustomed to in any way.

She glanced at Loki, who was still panting, sneaking looks at the tower behind him. The interior, she predicted, was a huge clusterfuck of a disaster, but, from the outside, it looked normal, which was odd. Okay, scratch that, she just saw a whole line of windows dragged through with a green fist, the glass exploding into infinitesimal segments. It was very late at night, and the majority of the city were curled up in slumber, so few people graced the sidewalks, meaning that almost nobody was witnessing the debacle.

"What the hell could have set him off? He has a lot of control," Natasha groaned, stretching her back until she heard the inevitable _pop. _She didn't seem very affected by what was going on, and she leisurely stood a good sized distance from the tower so that she wouldn't be subject to any debris falling.

"No idea," Loki lied, his brain shifting back to that tiny prank he had pulled earlier. That couldn't have possibly set the monster off, correct?

Natasha's comlink chirped at that moment, and she tapped it with a fingernail. It displayed an incoming message, from Fury, which told her to grab Loki and head to Borléon Café, where apparently Clint and Pepper were staying.

"Ah, your avian friend," Loki said, peeking over Natasha's shoulder.

"Don't do that," Natasha snapped, referring to his quite irritating habit of poking his nose into others' business. She had turned her back, and even raised a shoulder as a precaution, but _no, _the guy _still _managed to creep up on her. Besides, she had had enough of Loki _always _teasing her about Clint. _Especially _because of what happened between the two of them recently. This would be incredibly awkward to see Clint again.

After that incident, she'd steadily avoided him for the remainder of the week. She traveled downstairs to grab breakfast when the Avengers were done gorging themselves, and, spent her time flipping through necessary articles of information for her various missions, looking up profiles on the slim laptop she kept sealed in her bag, and constantly stepping into the arboretum to discuss matters with Fury and other Shield agents.

She didn't even want to 'talk it out' with Clint, because she knew that conversation would end up being, well…awkward. It was the only word that she deemed appropriate for that conversation. He had been so strangely nostalgic about that time in Budapest. It's just…it wasn't even 'making love.' They had both been rowdy from a night of drinking, after long days spent slashing through enemy bodies, and wiping blood from their stained brows. It had been Clint, actually, who _suggested _that they head out for a drink. At first Natasha declined, but then decided that her life could afford to be spiced up a bit. Before she knew what was happening, one drink turned into two. Two turned into three. And they had ended up furiously, drunkenly groping each other. The end.

She had compressed that memory into a box, and shoved it far into her mind, where she barely thought about it, unless it was mentioned. And now, Clint mentioned that. They were so close, but then Clint just had to go and ruin it all.

"Loki," Natasha suddenly said, in a domineering, succinct voice, commanding his attention to her.

"Yes?" he said, glancing at her.

"Don't poke any fun at Clint," she warned, narrowing her eyes at him as he smirked.

"Why, of course I would not-"

"Yes you would," she interrupted, "And you have."

"Has something happened between the two of you that I am not aware of?" he asked, that irritating smirk plastered on his face once more.

"No," lied Natasha, her gaze unwavering, her facial expression betraying nothing.

"I believe that you're lying," Loki said, the tone of his voice jilting skywards, almost as if he was singing a song.

Natasha turned slightly to look at him, and he looked immensely satiated, his brilliantly white teeth set in a self-assured grin, his eyes sparkling with beguiling mirth. He lifted one hand to push back a strand of hair that had fallen in his face, and she had to force herself not to wince at the dried blood which had foamed on the cuts etched into his skin.

"What happened back there?" she asked, quietly, referring to when she found him in that state. Her anger, well it wasn't really anger, just exasperation with him had dissipated, as soon as she saw the bloodied state of his hands, which he had mauled by, probably, punching the living daylights out of the leather bag.

She didn't know what to make of it. She had been burdened with another nightmare, as had been the usual as of late, and decided to make a quick run over to the exercise room, and unleash her pent up feelings against a punching bag. But instead, she found Loki, bent out of shape, his shoulders quivering, and soft whimpers escaping from his trembling throat. She'd felt something she hadn't felt in a while for somebody else, and that was true compassion, to want someone to feel better. She could not just leave him there, even though she knew that he'd no doubt be mortified by the occurrence.

"Well, you know, you were there," he joked, gesturing behind him with a hand, obviously referring to Bruce's spaz attack (to put it mildly), although Natasha suspected that he knew what she was actually talking about.

"I was there," she affirmed. "Why were you upset?"

He tensed, and avoided her gaze entirely, before saying, "You know, I ought to ask you the same question."

"What do you mean?"

"That day in the library, where you stormed in, and unleashed your wrath upon me."

"You're trying to change the subject," Natasha said. As they reached the end of the street they were walking on, she turned sharply left onto the adjacent street, which was connected to Borléon road, which was, obviously, the reason why the café located there was named such.

"No, you are, I believe," Loki said, his voice almost distant, as though he was talking to her from across a crowded room. "Did Clint say something to bother you? I can tell by the way your face flushes."

Natasha gripped his arm, forcing him to stop. He firmly dislodged his bicep from her tight grip, and stared down at her, not in a mocking way, but rather in a confused way, as though unsure of why a mere mortal would be able to stop _him_, a _god, _in his tracks.

"What I was, quote on quote 'upset' about, and I _don't _get upset, Loki, was superficial. You're just avoiding what's really at stake here."

"There's _nothing _at stake here, woman, and I was never entitled to tell you anything. I did not ask for your company," he seethed, his eyes bloodshot, and savage, as he fixated a lengthy glare with Natasha.

"Did I overstep a boundary," she asked, although the way she said it was more like a statement.

"Well, _yes,_" he sighed, and continued walking down the road.

She had to jog to catch up to him, because he was walking so quickly.

"You overstep boundaries all the time," she pointed out.

"No I don't."

She stepped in front of him, and as he shifted side to side, trying to evade her advancement, she mimicked his movement, making it almost impossible for him to get out of her way.

"I can't believe you said that," she said, her teeth gritted.

"Well, believe it," he said, and grinned.

"You're an ass. You know every single time you've said things that were better left unsaid. You're just in denial, because you can't accept the truth. That's why you lie so much."

He looked to be impassive, but his lips were pursed. His eyes glittered almost menacingly in the dim lamplight.

"Am I right?" she whispered, "Or am I right?"

"You like to think you're right," he snarled, "All humans like to think that to make themselves feel better because they are inferior specks of _dust _compared to the mighty things of the universe. You think you know why I do the things I do, but you do not. You're haughty, you're arrogant, you are just a typical mortal woman. No one speaks to me like that."

"Well-" she began, but he swiftly cut her off.

"I don't want to hear you," he snapped.

"You really need to-"

"_No, you _need to-"

"Go fu-"

"Excuse-"

"You're just upset becau-"

"That's a _lie-_"

"No, I-"

"Well-"

She then remembered what she had to do, and where they had to go, and spun sharply around, and started walking away. She had no time to deal with his infantile manners. She had to focus on the mission, on current events. He was _distracting her, _as always. And she was letting him. This was _pathetic; _she did not slave through the perils of the Red Room to be broken to pieces by Loki. Even though she did not recall the Red Room having a class specializing in how to banter with witty gods, that was no excuse for her spine to turn to gelatin.

"It's your fault we were delayed," he said, taunting her. "You stalled me. You like to receive all of the answers of the universe, don't you?"

She refused to speak to him, and gave him the universal womanly treatment towards a man who has scorned them. She turned the other cheek, and lifted her chin, her pose confident and self-assured.

"I'm an enigma, I'm a puzzle you shall never figure out. That _irks _you, doesn't it, _Tasha? _ Of all things. You think you have it all solved. You don't even have your own past solved, so, I propose that you tend to your own affairs, and I'll tend to mine-"

"You poke your nose in my business all the time, Loki, I _know _you want to know what has happened to me, you've practically stated it yourself. I am no idiot," Natasha said, spinning around and jabbing him in the chest.

He stared down at her, his eyebrows scrunched.

"Ah," she said softly, "That's it. You want to know all about my past. But you want to keep yours guarded. I get that. You know why I get that?"

She moved closer to him, so close that he could feel her breath upon his cheek.

"Because I'm exactly the same way," she said, enunciating each word carefully so that he would misinterpret anything.

"Why would you want to know anything about me anyway, Loki? I'm just a _puny mortal." _She said this with deadly serenity, with no underlying traces of bitterness or anger.

…

Their faces were incredibly close now, and the tip of her nose would touch his if he leaned just the slightest bit forward. Her pupils were dilated, and the milky white of her eyes reflected with a strange brightness, a strange, almost…longing. His heart stuttered, and he felt a savage panic course through his body, and his mind became blank, shutting down, overwhelmed by the influx of thoughts screaming in his brain. Looking at her face, which was tilted towards his, impassive, he gauged how smooth her skin looked, and how soft her hair seemed, as it lay in shiny curls upon her shoulders. And her scent, her scent of vanilla permeated him, but it wasn't overbearing. Subconsciously, he did lean forward, and he wondered, briefly, what it would _feel _like to bury a hand in her hair, and to see how her lips felt against his.

To kiss this brute of a woman, who may carry an emotional burden upon her back that was heavier than his could ever be. To kiss the woman who seemed apathetic to everything that was going on, whose veneer was ice-cold, and stalwart in its making. To kiss the woman who looked at him like he was…a man…and not a _monster. _

He wanted nothing more than to yearn to his urges. He wanted to know how she would react, if she wanted someone to hold her close as well, if she would open up to him, and wrap her arms around his neck. These fantasies panged at his heart, and he tried to dismiss them, but it was impossible, due to the proximity of her, and the fact that she was just as silent as she was. She did not say a single word, still, her eyes vacillating from his eyes to his mouth, and she seemed…bewildered…yet wanton. A small crease appeared in the center of her eyebrows, and for a moment, in the fading lamplight, she looked like an innocent, a lost girl, who had been bruised, and battered, and beaten until she could not handle a single thing more. And he wanted, for a single moment, to see what it would be like to hold her.

He leaned slightly forward, and this gentle motion brushed his nose against hers. Her lips opened in the slightest, and he detected the rapid, sudden movement of her eyelashes as they fluttered with…was she nervous? He wanted nothing more than to cup her face, and brush his thumb over a cheekbone, feeling the soft skin…

They both were hesitant, and as he gently touched her arm, he felt the muscle quivering, as though she was using every ounce of will power to execute the action, or prevent herself from doing so.

He closed his eyes, then…and…

A screeching vibrato burst out of nowhere, and stunned the two so badly, they knocked foreheads, and stumbled back, both of their faces colored crimson.

Natasha fumbled with the sleeve of her jacket until it peeled back to reveal the screaming device.

"_Yes? _Okay, yeah, almost there, uh-huh, sorry, yeah, okay, bye." She snapped it shut, and, barely turning her face, said, "We have to hurry. _Now._"

Loki did not say anything in response, just nodded, and hurried beside her, his long legs taking wider strides opposed to hers, although they eventually kept up a simultaneous rhythm. She refused to make eye contact with him, and he preferred it that way.

Oh, fucking _hell. _Had he just messed up their dynamics for eternity? Dramatic, yes, but he knew, and she knew, that that moment they had shared…if you could call it a _moment…_was…it…it had romantic implications. He should just be honest with himself. He _had _thought about _kissing _her, which had seemed completely unfathomable. When he first met her, back at the helicarrier, on that day where he had been, well, plotting mass destruction of Midgard, he had thought less than wholesome thoughts when her curvaceous figure came into his focus. No, he was not daydreaming about how her body would feel under his when he first saw her.

He had dreamed of smashing his scepter against her thick skull, until it gave way and cracked, gushing excess amounts of blood onto her face so that they matched the pallor of her hair. He had dreamed of ripping her entrails out of her screaming, living, breathing, sobbing body, and wrapping them around her mouth. He wanted her to _pay. _She, to him, was just another one of Shield's puppets, obeying orders, and not questioning things that seemed…suspicious. She had seemed like another rookie to him.

She seemed even pettier him because of her concern for her dear friend, Clint Barton, whom it seemed to him, that she was infatuated with. Altruism, love, family, friendship…all foreign concepts to him now. He had screamed this at Thor one day, in fact, in response to a plea from Thor's part for him to come to his senses. Thor, once hearing Loki spew venom about how he would never understand love or friendship because it had never been given to him, was beyond livid, and told Loki that he must be suffering from amnesia, because all throughout his life, his family was his family, blood-bound of not, and they loved him very much.

But then, he realized things about her, things that he wouldn't have even imagined. The majority of Midgardian women he had come across frustrated him immensely. They were shallow, cried easily, and had a superficial mindset.

But, Natasha…she was not like that. She shut him out, she tricked him, she brought him to his knees, she was violent, she…challenged him. She made him feel better about himself, and he knew, reveled even, in the fact that she was once…a monster, putting it rather harshly, but she redeemed herself. And she wasn't Shield's puppet, and she operated solitarily.

He was not sure, however, how this prompted him to…kiss her. Well, try to, at least. He did not want to create this premise based on any sentimental thoughts…any feelings. It must have been curiosity, to see what she was _like, _how she would _kiss…_was she a gentle lover? How would she react? Would her sly sarcasm, her brunt statements influence the pressure of her lips upon his? It was almost scientific, actually. Almost as if…an experiment of some sort. An experiment which would probably produce no results.

It was also an experiment which would have never have been executed in the first place. He knew that if he did succumb to his deepest desires, he'd end up with a dagger plunged into his stomach, due to the fact that she probably had an array of dangerous weapons tucked beneath her belt that she was more than willing to use on any given opportunity.

They finally crossed into Borléon street, and he noticed a fluorescent sign broadcasting the name. He swung open the door, and held it for her, almost expecting a 'thank you', which was the expected mannerism, but she seemed almost…asunder to her surroundings, distant to everything that was going on around her, as if she was waking from a powerful anesthetic that warped peoples' voices into a murky murmur.

Nevertheless, they entered the café, which was devoid of its usual customers. Quite a relief to Loki, because he felt that everyone was staring at him wherever he went. Thor told him that he was just paranoid, but he did not like that label. Or Thor, for that matter.

The décor wasn't too atrocious, unlike many Midgardian structures. It was simplistic, and rather quaint, a mint-green monochromatic color scheme evident in the lamps and rounded tables placed in neat rows in the area, all of which had a retro feel to them. At the end corner of the café, sat Clint and Pepper in a booth. He could vaguely make out Pepper's apricot colored hair, but could see Clint clearly, his bony fingers looped around a cup handle, talking animatedly, his goofy mouth flopping all over the place. The man loved to talk, and would never shut up, unless one sewed his mouth shut. Which Loki would be more than pleased to do.

Natasha had stopped in her tracks, and had her fists curled by her sides, her eyes full with what seemed like…disgust.

_Well, _Loki thought, trying to decipher Natasha's odd reaction to seeing her 'friend' in the café. Last time he checked, people who curled their fists, and looked ready to stab someone sent off aggressive vibes through their body language, and obviously, something must have happened between the two of them to prompt such an illicit reaction from the woman.

Was it…he remembered, with vivid clarity, her trembling composition as she strutted into the library that one morning, seething with barely held back anger. He knew something, or someone, rather, had irritated her, and she was having a hard time controlling it, which was a paradox to the requirements of a Black Widow's persona.

"The Black Widow sheds no tears," Natasha suddenly said, and he saw her jaw tense.

"Well, that was…sort of random," Loki stated, staring at her facial expression, which was almost frightening. She looked positively indifferent. In fact, she was terrifying him as a whole, with her strange statement, which sounded very…mechanical…odd…She was reflecting on her past.

He dared to gently tap her shoulder, which seemed to shake her out of her self-induced trance.

"Are you…alright?" he asked warily, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

"Yeah," Natasha said, blinking, as though a grain of dirt had fallen into an eye, "I'm fine. Let's just go."

"If you say so," Loki muttered.

As they approached the table, Clint and Pepper both raised their heads, ears alerted to the sound of Loki's and Natasha's shoes upon the floor.

Loki watched Natasha give them both a curt smile, and say hello.

Loki also decided to grant the two a cordial greeting, and said, "Hello, _Clint. _Hello, _Pepper._"

Clint simply glared back at Loki. Loki grinned in response, fully satisfied with himself.

Natasha slid into the booth next to Clint, and Loki grudgingly took a seat next to Pepper, whom he could tell, loathed him.

He felt Pepper shift her body away from his, her expression wary, and Clint was now absorbed with stirring his coffee with a spoon, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

"So," Natasha said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, her hands clasped. "What happened back there?"

Almost instantaneously, Clint and Pepper turned to stare at Loki, who adopted an innocent expression, that pretty much said, 'What'd I do?'

"What's going on?" Natasha said, her voice dropping a level, her eyes shifting from Pepper to Clint, steadily ignoring Loki at all costs.

"We-ell," Clint started, glaring at Loki. "Your little _pal _isn't as improved as you thought he was."

Natasha said, "Pepper, what's going on?"

"Loki put superglue on the fridge handle, Banner touched it, things happened, and well, he sort of destroyed the tower. Tony contacted me about five minutes ago, and said that everything's okay, but we'll need to stay in our regular home for a while now." Pepper closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose shut, overwhelmed by the course of events. Everything at first was barmy, delightful- she had expected Tony to come to bed, and they'd banter as they always did about the evening. But no, with a sad twist of events, everything became erroneous, and before they knew it, the 'other guy' was in full effect. Banner had not morphed into the creature since the day of the Manhattan attack, and so, did not regularly exercise control over it, partly because he could not accept who he was. It also sucked that Loki pulled the stupid fucking prank, and she was now at her breaking point. She did not want the lunatic sitting next to her, and breathing her air. She wanted him far, far, FAR AWAY.

"That's right, he put superglue on everything and ruined it all," Clint crowed, his eyes gleaming with a menacing light.

"It was a benign prank, and I can assure you that you all influenced this happening, am I not wrong?" Loki said, gesturing towards Clint.

"Well, _Natasha, _don't you remember him doing this at _all? _Or were you just failing to do your job again?" Clint practically spat at her.

Natasha's demeanor did not faze, and she said, "I did keep tabs. Of course, the second I left his side, he probably did this."

She did not acknowledge Clint's deprecating tone towards her, which quite honestly, dug at him deeply, because he had almost craved a snarky retort back from her. It would have meant that she cared enough to let his comments bother her, but clearly, they did not, and it further soiled his mood.

Natasha then stood up, and declared, "I need to use the bathroom."

She walked off, and left Loki in the pit of lions.

"Well, hello," Loki said, and cracked a slight grin.

This was going to be a hell of a lot awkward.

* * *

Natasha swept past the bathrooms located in the back of the café, and stepped outside, her back pressed against the brick wall. She checked to make sure no one was in earshot, and then, dialed the necessary numbers on her comlink that would direct her to Fury.

"Miss. Romanoff," Fury greeted Natasha, his image popping up on the hologram.

"Director Fury."

"You've got him?"

"Yes. He's in the café now, sitting with Clint and Pepper."

"Good. We've secured the perimeter."

"What are you going to do? I mean…"

"He set the Hulk off."

"He put super glue on a fridge handle."

Fury sighed. "Yeah, it seems downright stupid when you take a good look at it. But truth be told, it's about time his lying ass got carted back off to Asgard."

"Is he going to Asgard _now?_" Natasha asked.

"That's the plan."

"And I'm…going with?"

"That's what you said."

"Well-"

"We packed your stuff, you're all set-"

"You packed my stuff," Natasha echoed, her eyes widened.

"Is there a problem with that?"

"That's a violation of privacy."

"We could've let you go to Asgard with anything, now couldn't we? Let's be reasonable."

What was she doing? Natasha knew she had nothing secret in her room; she was armed with all of her essential equipment. The only things she left behind were mundane things: toiletries, clothes. Nothing that would be too weird for anyone to grab. But still, the Red Room had left her with a sense of paranoia that would never truly leave, and, for that, she was incredibly unhappy that Shield had gone through her room and picked through her things. Although, what else was supposed to happen? They were just trying to help.

Wait. She could've had time to go and pack, right? Why couldn't they have guaranteed her a ride to Stark Towers, no matter how decrepit it may be? They went in, didn't they?

"You okay, Miss. Natasha?" Fury asked, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Now, I need you to go inside, and get the group to come to the front. Thor will direct you guys to Asgard."

"I thought the rainbow bridge was broken," Natasha said, flatly.

"Apparently, their daddy has conveniently found a way for them to get back home."

"And that is?"

"You'll have to wait and see." Fury's form then fizzled out, and she was left with a dark screen on her comlink.

She knew what she had to do.

As she slipped back into the building, she heard a sharp yell, and, propelled by pure panic, burst through the doors leading to the arena of tables.

Back at the table, she saw a peculiar sight: Clint and Pepper were standing, looking rather grimly at the floor. Clint was holding an unidentifiable object in his left hand, and she saw his leg swish forward.

"What's going on?" she asked, as she made her way through the random cluster of chairs surrounding the bar area, blocking her field of vision.

As she pushed the last chair aside, she saw Loki, sprawled face first on the floor, his legs bent at awkward angles.

"What did you do?" Natasha asked calmly, trying to see the device Clint was not holding behind his back.

"Tazed him," Clint said, producing the weapon with a flourish, the red button flashing, meaning that it had just been used.

"_Why?" _Natasha said, shooting him a murderous look. She bent down by Loki, and pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, and felt his pulse, which was fast, and steady.

_Thank God. _

"He was bothering me," Clint said, crossing his arms.

"Pepper, what happened? I'm gone for two minutes-"

"It was five," Clint interjected.

"Sorry, _five, _and what-how-"

"They were arguing about something or another," Pepper said, "And before I knew it, out came the tazer, and well…there." She pointed towards the floor.

"You didn't stop him at all?"

"Why the fuck do you care if he gets tazered, Tasha, it's just a _tazer! _You're acting like I stabbed him!_" _His eyes were savage, and his face was the color of a plum.

During this debacle, the front doors were pushed open, and Shield Agents began pouring in, toting thick guns, and talking in low, introspective voices.

"Where's Loki?" Thor stepped through the area, clutching Mjolnir tightly in his right hand, his voice trembling with pure anger.

"Here," Natasha called out, and watched as Thor almost knocked over a Shield guard in his journey to Loki's unconscious body. He prodded his brother sharply in the side with his boot, frowning. Then, Loki groaned, and his eyelids fluttered open. Using the strength left in his hands, he rolled himself over, and recoiled instantly at the bright lights up ahead, and the presence of his brother, who was bent over him, and staring at him intently.

"What the Hel…" Loki said, squinting. "You…" he gasped, finding Clint easily, who was making a pathetic attempt to hide behind Natasha. "You did this." He propped himself up using his elbows, and attempted to stand, but, this was a failed attempt, seeing as his legs felt like two wobbly masses of gelatin.

"Don't stand," Thor advised.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Thank you. I did not know that."

"No need for the sarcasm, brother," Thor snapped, and gripping the back of Loki's shirt, tugged him up briskly, wrapping his arm around his back in order to support him.

"Let _go _of me," Loki hissed, his elbows thrashing, slapping Thor's armor to no effect whatsoever.

"Natasha," Thor said, grasping her attention. He nodded at her, indicating that it was time.

She followed his lead through the café, which was almost a comical sight, as Loki was not exactly thrilled about being toted around by Thor.

"You…you _tricked me!" _he rasped, his fingers clawing out in the air, desperately.

"What?" Natasha said, confused, as she did not hear what he had said.

"Heed no attention, he lacks reason," Thor said gruffly, tightening his grip.

"YOU TRICKED ME!" Loki roared, except, these cries of anguish were not directed at his brother, but rather, at Natasha.

"I did not," Natasha said wanly, opening the doors leading to the exit.

Thor, in the meanwhile, had taken a stone from the depths of his pocket. It was translucent, and had a dent in the center, similar to a dip in a valley. Located in the center of the gem was a scintillating fleck of rock, whose edges were outlined with gold. It thrummed in his hand, as it was a live source of energy harvested from a planet which Odin had not named.

Loki's eyes feasted on the vibrating stone, which bathed Thor's palm in golden light.

"Wha-" Natasha began, but Thor interrupted, and said,

"No time for small talk. Grasp my palm."

She did so. In a blinding, nauseating flash of light, they were gone.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Hey, I'm in a huge rush to edit this chapter because unfortunately this computer is a shared computer. SO, my editing was basically skimming this over, so I apologize in advance for any grammatical/spelling/whatever mistakes.**

**I know the Loki and Natasha bit may have annoyed you, that they didn't kiss, but I promise you, romance is in the near future.**

**Thank you to my dear followers and favorites!**

**And to my lovely reviewers:**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**-theblueexorcast**

**Thanks!**

**-skywriter23**

**xoxo**


	18. Now I'm Here

**Hello, there! I apologize for the absurd gap in updates; I'll try not to let that happen again. I think you guys will really like this chapter, though. The rest of the author's note is on the bottom, as usual. Happy reading!**

* * *

It was a divine spectrum of light.

Flashes and arbitrary spurts of color reached their tendrils out to poke at the tentative eyes of the three reluctant travelers in a sort of cadence, their shadows colored purple beneath clenched eyes. A sound like a propeller beating its wings clogged their ears, and disconnected them from their sense of reality.

A droning noise saturated the air, which swept by in a vicious current, hurdling them along like a small child trapped in the choleric flow of a river. Their limbs felt as if they didn't belong to them, that the sinew and muscle was reduced to nothing more than a strip of flimsy cartilage. Their minds were humming, and that was all they could register in their heads- this, this-hum. This _drone. _

_Hmmmmmhmhmmmmmmhm_

A thousand needle pricks stinging their flesh

_Hmmmmmmhmhmmmmmhm_

They were engulfed in flame

And finally, dark.

* * *

She was dead.

At least she felt like she was. She was sunken into a soft, comfortable fabric, that swished around her legs. It was completely silent; all she could detect were the sounds of her steady, uninterrupted breathing.

Natasha opened her eyes, slowly, to reveal a blurry scene that was nonsensical until she blinked rapidly, restoring focus.

Right across from her was a visceral painting, of a tree draped with Spanish moss, whose individual strands resembled the structure of DNA. The painting was hung neatly on a beige wall embedded with gilded figures that resembled the curled motion of a person's finger; they flowed towards one direction, like a school of fish. A turquoise vase poised by the tall door was an odd shape: The bottom resembled a dome, and the center piece was a rectangular sliver which appeared to have the consistency of balsa wood, and at the top, was a bulbous bulge that had an erratic array of flowers bursting out of it, adding a bright pop of color, which was sharply in contrast to the gold and white monochromatic color scheme of the room.

The sheets crumpled by her ankles (she must have kicked at them throughout her slumber) looked like folds of crepe paper, embellished with the reflective gold hem that appeared to be some sort of theme throughout the room.

Looking around, she detected that she was the only being occupying this room; no one was in sight, and she could not hear the familiar murmurs indicating people in the vicinity. Where were Thor and Loki? What could she even remember?

Of course, as she placed her fingers to her temples, and squinted her eyes shut, she vaguely made out the outline of the previous night's events: The Hulk. The defenestration of Steve Rogers (as she had heard earlier). Clint tazing Loki. Loki screaming at Natasha that she 'tricked him', but she merely cast off his scathing allegations as ramblings of a delusional man. How could she have tricked him? He knew he was being dragged off to Asgard; she'd told them in advance. Of course, the friendly little visit had had an earlier arrival date than was expected, but that's the thing- it was expected for them to go, and therefore, Natasha had not 'tricked him.'

She shook her head quickly, clearing through the strobe of thoughts circulating in her brain like smoke; she had a tendency to overanalyze things. Loki's last words to her were the least of his concern. It was obvious that he was anything but emotionally stable.

What she should be worrying about is why she's in a strange bed with no sight of any people, and where Thor could be, and how affairs are going in Asgard. Speaking of which, Fury expected her to converse with the leaders of Asgard, and bring back valuable data to Shield to prove that, well, Asgardians weren't an evil race trying to take over Earth. Of course, Asgard wasn't going to do that, but all the same, Shield clenched onto its ongoing suspicion towards Asgard, and the nine realms in general. Natasha didn't blame them. In fact, she had her own levels of wariness. Her trust issues were rightly labeled so, and she wasn't about to blindly assume everyone on Asgard just wanted to be buddies. It would be downright stupid. She never fully trusted anybody. Not even Clint.

Of course, it's important not to trust anyone in the world, or else, nothing would get done; entropy and corruption would increase, and people would get sucked into a swirling vortex of misery. For instance, journalists are supposed to have a measure of distrust against the government in order to speculate and scrutinize to find any signs of political corruption, and then report it to ensure that the citizens are well-informed, and not just eating up whatever the government proclaims is the 'truth.' Like when the Water-Gate scandal broke out, journalists were all over that case, printing out copy after copy of what actually went on, while Nixon's advisors hastily claimed that the entire thing was a mishap and a misunderstanding.

At least, that's how it is in the United States. Not so much in the times Natasha grew up in, and that same zeitgeist dated back to her predecessors as well.

Nevertheless, trust was a shaky virtue that she had never bothered to take under her wing, and if she was to do so, she might as well resign, and get a job as a minimum-wage entertainer at some snotty kid's birthday party.

She decided that it would be wise to embark on a course of action _now, _rather than later; no more procrastinating. She had thought things through, and now, it was time to act. As she looked down, she noticed with grim dissatisfaction that she was wearing some odd thin mint green dress that scanned her thighs and had bell shaped sleeves. Which meant that someone had removed her clothes, and that someone had seen her naked.

Of course, she experienced a brief flash of humiliation, but that quickly dissipated as fast as it had come by- it was not something she could dwell on. She'd just have to let it go.

She experienced a bit of a head rush as she stood up, and she found herself gripping the ivory bed post with a white knuckled hand, tapping her foot as she waited for the flurry of black dots swimming in her vision to evaporate. Once they did, she padded over to the Northwest part of the room, which contained a remarkably plain door. She swiftly opened it, leading to another gold splattered room: bulbous gilded roses reflected her visage; an opulent couch shimmering with canals of gold thread had a plush scarlet blanket tossed over the armrest with reckless abandon; the floors were neatly stenciled in thin slices of squares that contained precisely twelve miniature squares within them, and infused with a rich blend of caramel and dark chocolate. Flames licked at the speckled stone fireplaces which were dripping with garlands bearing pale yellow flowers whose petals seemed to be offering an embrace. A small table, which had the similar design to the night table by her bed, contained a medium-sized bowl, which carried water; rose petals carved ripples into the film of the liquid as they idly floated past.

She dimly made out the sound of a door, from the right side, according to the peripheral vision, creak open. A figure stepped out, whose lanky body was swathed in royal blue robes.

"Ah, I see that you're awake," the person said, and walked over to Natasha. He was a wizened man with a face bearing the texture of a worn leather jacket. His gray eyes had a strange benevolence to them.

"Yes," Natasha replied. "Pardon, but, who are you?"

"I'm Kendrick. You must be quite confused, my lady," he said.

"I'm Natasha. I am confused. I have some questions that I'd like to have cleared up," she said.

"Would you like some tea first?" he asked her, his mouth set in a thin smile.

"Do you think you could answer the preliminary questions first? I don't like this feeling. It's…unsettling," she admitted, hoping that she didn't come off as overly rude, and startle the man.

He didn't even blink, and, motioning towards the set of couches, said, "As you wish. Have a seat."

She did so, and he took his own across from her.

"Who are you? And why am I here?" she asked, crossing her legs. She hoped that he'd give her straightforward answers, and no riddles or any of that bullshit that she'd have to decipher later.

"I am one of the Palace healers, and you are here because you passed out. The rock's power must have been too potent for a mortal."

"How long was I passed out for?" Natasha said, and made a mental note that Loki and Thor weren't the only Asgardians who thought humans inferior.

"Two days," Kendrick said, and leaned back.

"Two days," Natasha repeated dully.

"That's about right. I was going to check on you right about now, actually. Although, I wasn't too worried; we've carried humans over to this realm utilizing the stone."

Natasha groaned internally. She was out for two whole days?! She wasn't about to display her disbelief in front of this complete stranger, and instead, opted for a nonchalant shrug.

"Where's Thor and Loki?" she asked, noticing how the healer's expression had darkened once she had mentioned Loki.

"Thor I believe is at a banquet that's been going on for quite some time- it will end at the bewitching hour, and, you'll have time to go. You have an array of clothes waiting for you in your room, and whatever hygienic tools you may require."

"Okay…now, where's Loki?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Why is that?"

"He is under guard at the moment. "

"Did he pull another one of his tricks?"

"You could say that," he said.

"Sounds like Loki," Natasha deadpanned.

"Well, why don't you tell Odin that?" Kendrick chortled.

"You all seem like a lot of fun," Natasha commented.

"We know how to live. We just do not tolerate trouble-makers and mischief-weavers of any kind," Kendrick replied, immediately noticing the sarcastic tone in Natasha's speech.

"I'm not denying that," Natasha said.

"I suggest you start preparing. Then, one of our men may escort you to the banquet hall, as you have not learned to navigate the inner maze of the palace quite yet."

"Alright."

Kendrick continued to explain several things to Natasha, while she nodded and made mental notes of things she considered to be of importance.

Back in the room, she opened the double doors of the closet, and was almost ambushed by the collage of dresses composed of various luxurious materials. Would they even fit her? She grabbed a random gown out of the bundle, and had to tug it loose from an adjacent hanger. The gown was a deep garnet, and strapless; a thin silver film cut a right triangle in the bodice.

She realized with great frustration that the dress had a corset in the back, of infinitesimal ribbons knotted together; how was she supposed to do this on her own?

It took her a considerable amount of time just to untie the damn thing; it was oddly reminiscent of her ballet days. But at least there were people doing the corset shit for her. Speaking of which, Asgard would greatly benefit from the invention of the zipper. When she finally unraveled the colossal mass before her, she tentatively stepped in the dress, and breathed a sigh of relief as she tugged the material over her thighs without any protest. However, once she sat down, with the flaps of the back wide open, she had to do an interesting maneuver, pinning her hands to her back, and trying to find the corresponding gilded holes for the ribbons.

Half an hour later, she was ready to tear the dress to pieces, and burn it. Fuck fashion, fuck Asgard, fuck banquets. Natasha had reached her quota, clothing wise. She just wanted to find her normal clothes, no matter how underdressed she may look.

First impressions were crucial, however, and she wanted the Asgardians to take her seriously.

There was a knock on the door, and Natasha opened it to find a doe-eyed girl wearing plebeian clothes.

"May I help you, my lady? I am Vanessa, here at your service," she said, and bowed.

_She actually bowed, _Natasha thought, and her eyes widened. "You can just call me Natasha," she said, and gave what she hoped was a warm smile.

"Do you require any help, Lady Natasha?" Vanessa asked, and curtsied.

Dear God. So, Thor wasn't the only one who was this way. It was almost eerie how formal they were; Natasha didn't feel comfortable being serviced by somebody; it strangely panged of feudal times. Servants were definitely not a modern norm.

"Well-" Natasha hesitated, but then remembered the gaping back of her dress, and let the girl into her room.

Vanessa must have had fingers of magic, as she tied up the loose ends of Natasha's dress with great ease.

"Thank you," Natasha said, and awkwardly patted Vanessa's shoulder.

"I am happy to service you whenever you wish, my lady," Vanessa replied, and curtsied once more.

Natasha traipsed into the bathroom, and found various cosmetics, which she hastily applied to her face. After dragging a comb through her unruly hair, and pinning it back, she figured she was more than ready to go.

Waiting by her door, as Kendrick had said, was a man who bowed to her in the similar fashion Vanessa had. He greeted her with unsettling politeness, and offered her his arm to take.

Natasha gripped his forearm, and focused on not letting her dress catch on her heels.

"It's very beautiful here," she stated.

"Why, thank you. It is the Royal palace, after all. Although here is not the only place of pulchritude; the verdant forests are saturated with vibrant life, and the markets bestow delicacies that you shall never find on your planet," he said, nodding with each affirmation.

"I bet," Natasha said, "Sounds nice."

"Yes. A nice reprieve from your soiled planet," he said, and patted her hand, which was draped over his bicep.

Natasha wanted to wash that hand in hydrochloric acid; anything to get his touch off her. Maybe she was too hard on Loki in terms of racial prejudice, but maybe, there were only a select few people in Asgard who thought this way. After all, there are racist people on Earth too, of course, but not everyone is like that.

She couldn't just make assumptions based on the idiocy of an individual. She'd have to make sure her skills were finely tuned; no dull blades or edges. Of course, these were her own observations, and she wasn't sure how Fury would react if the main observation she made was that Asgardians were xenophobes.

As the guard led her to the entrance of the banquet hall, she smoothly dislodged her arm from his grip, and gave him a gleaming smile, waving good-bye.

The room was bathed in gilded light projected from pools of viscous liquid contained in chartreuse basins; people were illuminated in this light, which magnified their presence, and truly seemed to establish these people as 'gods.' Dancing couples swashed gracefully throughout the room, in waves of silk and satin; euphonious music exemplified the intoxicating presence the people themselves had provided.

No one seemed to notice her as she approached, swimming through the ornate basin of those who seemed quite grandiloquent in their ventures. Her eyes scoped the crowd for any sight of her blonde friend, and found him with great ease (his booming laughter was difficult to miss); he was seated at one of the many long tables, with counters that looked like solid bars of gold.

As she came up behind him, she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned his head to look over his shoulder; with a gigantic smile, he tore out of his seat, and, without warning, embraced the assassin, almost choking her with the tightness of his grip.

"Lady Natasha! You're awake!" he grinned, releasing the stunned woman, and resting his hands on her shoulders.

"Yes," she said, smiling back. She wasn't exactly prone to physical contact, but she had no qualms against Thor, who appeared to be genuinely excited to see her.

"We all worried tremendously; it was, granted, a mindless move on our part, and I sincerely apologize. The stone's capacity outweighs a human's strength," Thor said, his eyes sorrowful.

"It's fine," she said. She was a bit (as usual) uncomfortable that she had been touched, but to Thor, he may have perceived her as dead. Strangely enough, she didn't feel a good sense of outrage at the fact that the stone probably had not been tested, that transporting humans could be fatal. But it wasn't fatal. And she was living proof of that.

"I shall introduce you to the Warriors Three- and Sif," Thor said, gesturing towards the four Asgardians looking up with peculiar expressions on their faces.

"This is Sif," Thor said, gesturing to the woman sitting across from him. She was startlingly beautiful; her eyes were a mix of honey and green, framed by an intricate set of lashes. Her face was angular, long, and proud; her dark, strong eyebrows accentuated her audacious looks, and added to her presence. She sat with a practiced air, like a predator stalking its prey, and the way her eyes met Natasha's indicated a deep veneration, and a bright intellect.

Natasha liked her right away.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," Natasha said.

"And you as well," Sif said, and gave a little bow.

Thor introduced the remainder of the Warrior's Three: Fandral, who had a playful persona and golden hair; Volstagg, who looked like a brunette version of Santa Claus, and Hogun, who was laconic, but did not give off a snooty air.

"So!" Volstagg boomed, plopping a goblet in front of Natasha, and filling it to the brim with mead, "You hail from Midgard, am I correct?"

"Yes," Natasha said, accepting the spirit. She took a tentative sip, and found it much tamer than her preferred choice of drink. Nevertheless, it was delicious, and she took a hearty gulp.

"Ah, I find you'll rather enjoy yourself here. Food and drink are in copious amounts; unlimited!" he added, taking a wholesome bite out of a leg of what appeared to be meat to emphasize his point.

"Good to know," said Natasha. She accepted the platter full of meat, stabbed an especially juicy morsel with her fork, and deposited it on a sturdy plate, propped in front of her by another servant, who greeted her just as formally as Vanessa had.

"So, Natasha, how do you like Asgard?" Sif asked.

"I cannot formulate an opinion yet, because I've been asleep for the past two days. But it's very beautiful," Natasha answered honestly.

"Of course. Tomorrow, the Warriors Three and I shall venture into the arching ranges, and later, a hunting trip deep in the forests. Would you like to accompany us?" Sif asked.

"Sure," Natasha said, although she was a bit unsure, "That would be nice."

Sif nodded, and said, "Splendid."

"Oh, Lady Natasha, Odin would like to speak to you 'morrow, as well," Thor commented, "To discuss planetary relations and whatnot."

"Alright-"

"Don't worry, Odin is rather gentle on the weaker folk," Fandral said, giving an unnerving wink to Natasha.

"Discussing 'planetary relations' was on the agenda, and it's the main reason why I'm here. Also, to keep an eye out for Loki," Natasha said, suavely.

At the mention of 'Loki', four sets of eyes glanced up from their meals. Thor remained impervious to this.

"Oh, _Loki_," Sif snapped, "My mind is boggled as to why the trickster is allowed back."

"I guess the Midgardians couldn't handle him anymore," Fandral said, rolling his eyes.

_And, why did Thor think it was a great idea to bring Loki back? Even it is for a short time? _Natasha thought.

"No, Father wanted to speak with him, and gather information on his whereabouts, as _Ser Dammen _is becoming murky. A testimonial is in order for Loki, as he has been situated in Midgard for longer than I have," Thor spoke up.

"Of course he's been in Midgard for a longer time than you, Thor. You're full of integrity, and honesty…the polar opposite of _him_," Sif said, holding eye contact with the god.

"Lady Sif, you flatter me. However, my brother is not a being of pure evil. He has benefits to his persona."

"Where is Loki?" Natasha said, abruptly.

"Confined to his room, no doubt," Sif answered, her eyes squinting, "And hopefully that's where he'll stay."

_Geez. Did he take a crap on her lawn or something?!_

"Loki will hopefully regain reasoning. I do think he will. I pray for that," Thor said, and rubbed his forehead.

"You have done your best," Sif said firmly, closing her hand over Thor's.

The remainder of the meal was carried out in vibrant gossip, and platters brimming with various delicacies and desserts. By the time Natasha was finished, she could barely move, and saluted the rest good-night.

She found her way back to her bedroom by herself (no need for that useless escort), and proceeded to remove the dress, and kick off her heels.

The only thing she could find for sleepwear was a flimsy nightgown, which made Natasha feel like she was five as she slipped it on.

But, as she turned off the lights and climbed into bed, her mind was overwrought by continuous thoughts of Loki, and where he could be. The last time she had seen him, he was vitriolic, and screaming various insults at her. From previous calculations, she determined he was having some sort of a panic attack. He claimed that she 'tricked him.' She supposed that she did in a way. Loki wasn't expecting to depart for Asgard so early. But he was warned that he would be, so granted, it shouldn't have been as big of a surprise as it was.

She swung out of bed, completely awake. Screw it. This was a terrible, terrible, terrible idea, and she'd probably never even find him in the ginormous palace. It was a futile attempt.

She opened the door, and found with great relief that no guards were posted by her door, and that there weren't any people gracing the halls. It was late, and she had stayed at the banquet until the majority of the crowd had dissipated. Then, the Warriors Three, Sif, and Thor all left for slumber as well. But still.

She had absolutely no idea where she was going, and as she skirted a thick marble pillar, she came to a sight that made her stop in her tracks, and use the pillar as a shield.

A tall man with a white beard and a gold patch over his left eye was talking to Thor in hushed whispers; Natasha could barely perceive what they were saying, and used her lip-reading skills to figure out what was going on.

Odin mouthed the word 'Loki', and then he retreated back into an arbitrary room, while Thor hastily sped off down the hallway.

Natasha followed Thor through the sinuous hallways, flattening herself against the plethora of marble pillars that seemed to follow her wherever she went. The worse times that she feared she'd be caught were the staircases, but luckily, Thor's mind was clearly on something else, and he was completely oblivious to his surroundings. Or so it appeared.

Finally, after Thor flung the double-doors open at the top of the stairwell, with Natasha quickly sliding her body out of the rapidly closing door, he made a sharp right.

_This must be the royal rooms,_ Natasha thought. They shone, literally, brighter than any of the other compartments, and the tapestries hanging on the walls broadcasted specific feats that the gods had performed.

Finally, Thor stopped by one of the doors, raised his fist, and landed one solid knock on the door; he waited for a while, and finally, the door opened, revealing Loki, who had a murderous expression upon his visage.

"Brother," Thor greeted.

Loki simply stared back, resulting in a very uncomfortable silence for Thor.

"I need to see how you were faring," Thor explained.

"I am faring quite well," Loki said, smirking.

"I am glad. You should thank me that I convinced Father not to throw you into the prison cells once more."

"Thank you."

"It's an embarrassment, Loki. After all of your time on Midgard, you're still the power-hungry zealot that is nothing like the brother I once knew and loved."

Natasha's eyes widened as she watched the exchange.

"You never knew me, Thor," Loki said, and he threw his head back and laughed. "Only Odin did."

"You mean about your lineage? Loki, listen, you're still Loki, you're still royalty, you're still part of our family, blood-bounded or not!" Thor exclaimed, smacking his hand on the adjacent wall.

"Family. What a false, deceiving, condescending word to use to describe this. I have never been part of this 'family.' I was ostracized from any sense of that superficial word from the moment I was born!"

"Loki, you're nonsensical. We have always treated you the same, we-"

"Oh, what next, bilgesnipe make lovely pets?"

"_Brother…_"

"I'm tired, Thor. Good night, Thor."

"We have plenty to discuss."

"And we shall discuss this tomorrow."

With that, the door slammed shut, and Thor stalked off, muttering something inconceivable under his breath. Natasha cautiously removed herself from her hiding place; she wasn't sure if it was the best idea to visit Loki now, as that confrontation between him and his brother was bound to put him in the worst mood.

At the same time, she would have done all of this work for nothing, and besides, Fury _had _said to keep an eye on the god (or rather, ex-god) and note any suspicious behavior.

She hesitated when she was directly in front of the door, and then knocked on the door twice, softly.

The door was flung open immediately, with Loki springing out and saying, "Thor, I _said…_"

He immediately curtailed his sentence once he realized his visitor was not Thor, but in fact, Natasha Romanoff.

"Hello, Loki," she said.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I wanted to see how you're doing," she said.

"If you think you can extrapolate any information from me to feed to your Fury, you're wrong, and you may as well just leave, instead of following Thor and hiding behind _that _pillar," Loki said, pointing to her exact hiding spot.

She should have known. "I'm not looking to extract any information from you. I just wanted to see how you were. Honest."

"Honesty has never been a strong suit of yours, Natasha," Loki said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"You're one to talk," she snorted.

They stared at each other for a while, until Loki finally said, "Come in."

She raised her eyebrows at Loki's sudden (and slightly rash) decision, but nevertheless, stepped into his room.

_Geez_, she thought, surveying the room; it looked like he took every single library in the known universe and jam-packed it into one room; bookshelves bulged superfluously with the volume of books, which were stacked in columns on the floor, scattered upon his bed, covered by sheer dark green curtains on the window pane…just…everywhere. Literature dominated the room.

"I can see that you like books," Natasha said, smirking at Loki.

"That's an understatement," Loki said. He gently lifted a stack of books off of a chair as if they were a newborn child, and laid them upon a medium-sized stack on the floor.

"Seat's yours," he said, beckoning towards the now-cleared chair.

"Thanks." She took the seat.

"I'm sorry my room is in such a state of discord," Loki said, running a hand through his dark hair, which was slightly messy. Natasha noticed, with great satisfaction, that he appeared to have gotten more sleep, which was surprising, considering that he claimed to hate Asgard and its inhabitants. But in any case, his green eyes shone with a vibrancy that was unparalleled to the lackluster that they had been before; the shadows under his eyes were disappearing, and his gaunt look was fading as well.

"It's fine," Natasha said.

"When did you wake?" Loki asked.

"Today," Natasha said.

"Ah. I told Thor that the stone would have less than pleasant results on mortals."

"I was only out for several days."

"Several implies around seven."

"Snarky as always, Loki," Natasha sighed, leaning back.

"I'm surprised that you haven't started chastising me yet," Loki sneered.

"What for? I'm not your mother," she said, sitting back up and crossing her legs.

"I cannot understand you," Loki said, tilting his head slightly as he peered at her, "And I do not like it."

"What do you mean you can't understand me?" Natasha inquired.

"You're volatile at one instant, and the next, engaging in conversation. You seem like you are trying to establish some sort of friendship with me, but you say you're not looking for friends. You're violent, but yet, you kneel and wipe my wounds, instead of pressing them into my skin."

"I'm not one-sided, Loki. I'm not a brute. I do have emotions," Natasha said, her eyes darting to meet his.

"I never said you didn't," Loki said.

"That's what you're implying."

Another silence ensued. Natasha got up. "Maybe I should leave."

"Maybe you should," Loki said, avoiding her gaze.

Natasha slowly made her way to the door.

"Wait," Loki spoke up, and got up.

They stared at each other again, both seemingly impassive, but with emotion barely controlled internally. Neither of them knew what to say; Loki did not know why he told her to 'wait'; and she did not know why she did. All she could gauge was how cold it was in the room, and how warm his body was, so close to hers, and how green his eyes truly looked, and how soft his hair would feel if she ran her fingers through it. And in that moment, she realized that she did desire for him, and no it was not love, and maybe it was lust, but it was a shot of adrenaline to the heart, and she couldn't handle it anymore.

She stepped forward so that their chests were touching, and she noticed the way he swallowed.

She lifted her face up; there was no change in his expression, no nothing, just the slight quiver in his hands resting by his side indicated any sort of trepidation.

She then pressed her lips to his, quickly, suddenly, and gripped the lapels of his shirt.

It was soft, but he didn't reciprocate it; he just stood there. She broke off the kiss, but, unexpectedly, he looped an arm around her waist, and pulled her against his chest; he intertwined a hand in her hair, and kissed her once more, grazing her cheekbone with the thumb of his free hand.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and, as her chest was pressed to his, she noticed how fast his heart was beating, much like hers.

He then pulled her into a deeper kiss, their tongues slowly sliding over each other, her hands running over the hard muscle of his back. She tugged on his hair sharply, prompting a groan from him that culminated in a deep-set warm feeling for her that radiated between her legs. She noticed that, as she trailed kisses down his neck, that he felt great satisfaction from this as well; his bulging pants were pressing into the thin fabric of her nightgown, and she took from this, sashaying her hips into his.

A knock on the door startled them out of their reverie, they broke apart, their eyes glued to the door.

Loki cleared his throat, and pointed to a door in the back of his room. "Go there."

Natasha ran towards the door, flung it open, and then shut it softly; it was just a bathroom. She pressed an ear to the door, and heard soft feminine murmurs, and Loki saying, "No, yes, that's fine, alright."

Then, the front door closed, and Loki called out, "Natasha! You may come out now."

She did, and they stood staring at each other once more.

Natasha's lips felt swollen, and she had an inane urge to press her fingertips to them, but she didn't. "I…I should probably go," she said, suddenly unsure of herself, or what they had just been doing.

"Yes, you should," Loki said.

She nodded, and he waved her out, neither saying a proper good-bye.

Only then, when she reached her bedroom, did she think, _What have I done?_

* * *

**Author's note: First off, I want to say that my old user was skywriter23, but it's now soirblanche for certain reasons. Just wanted to communicate that to people.**

**Anyways. I hope that wasn't too OOC. I don't want to give much away, but their future relationship (if you can call it that) won't be this romantic or mushy. As a footnote.**

**Anyways, here's the spiel on updates. I'll try to get one out before Christmas, and then another during the vacation, but updates in general after that will be two weeks. I'll try hard not to extend them to a month like this time.**

**Chapter 17 had the highest amount of viewers and followers than any other chapter, and I want to say, THANK YOU! Thank you for all of the support. You guys are truly amazing.**

**As usual, thank you to my lovely reviewers:**

**-theponkey123**

**-Iz-Insane**

**- Young Writter at Large**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**BY THE WAY: my friend, DarlingDeathMachine has an entertaining, well-written fanfic titled 'Like Moth to Flame', which is a Loki x Sigyn/Loki x OC fic, and it's awesome, so, check it out when you have the time!**

**Much love,**

**-soirblanche**


	19. Pain is so Close to Pleasure

**Happy Holidays, everyone! The author's note below contains responses to guest reviews, and also, contact information. Enjoy the chapter! :)**

* * *

"Here is a satchel of arrows, and a silver sword sheathed," Volstagg said, and passed the necessary weaponry over to Natasha, who was listening attentively to his vivid description prior of the arms that were most valuable to utilize in a hunting expedition.

"Thank you," Natasha said, and accepted both. He showed her how to attach the sheath to her belt, which was looped into the soft trousers Sif had lent her. In the morning when she had awoken, all she could find were rows and rows of dresses, none of which practical for really anything, except for dancing (sort of), sitting, and looking pretty.

"Have you hunted before?" Volstagg asked.

"I have, actually," she said, "Although it's been a while since."

And it was done with a pretty impressive gun, which, by the looks of, Asgard did not have. Different situations called for different weaponry, she guessed.

"Ah, that is splendid. Do you prefer the bow or sword?"

"Sword. I'm okay with shooting, but I don't have the best aim in my field."

"Yes! And, remember how hysterical she was for days on end?," Sif said, grinning, as she and Thor suddenly walked into the room, the light glinting off of their opulent armor.

"Who was hysterical? I'd like to hear!" Volstagg boomed.

"Thor and I were exchanging stories of our brief expeditions through the nine realms. Remember how he once had to wear-"

"Oh, Sif, that is quite unnecessary to tell," Thor huffed, giving her a mock-disapproving glare.

She merely smirked at him.

"Oh, are you just embarrassed to tell the story in front of Lady Natasha?" Volstagg chuckled, all the meanwhile cleaning his sword with a rag.

"Yes, are you?" Natasha asked, her eyes glittering. Her curiosity had been peaked since the moment Thor and Sif had walked into the room, with Sif attempting to segue into what appeared to be a humorous story- albeit embarrassing, gauging by Thor's reaction.

"Well-" Thor started, but was cut off by Sif.

"I'll just tell it. You'll regain your confidence in due time," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Fine, fine," Thor huffed, "But I shall want to begin it, to explain the reasoning!"

"Carry on," Natasha said.

"Alright. One morn, I woke to find that Mjolnir was _gone,_" Thor said, lifting the hammer in the air to emphasize his point. "In a blind panic, I asked each and every one of the gods and goddesses in Asgard if they had seen it."

"But they hadn't," Sif said.

"No. So, my brother said that he might've had an idea of who may have taken it. He then transformed into a falcon, and set off."

Loki could transform himself into an animal? Imagining Loki as a falcon was a bit odd for Natasha, and she managed to hide with ease the grin that threatened to emerge.

"Ah! May I tell more of this enthralling tale?" Fandral said, entering the compartment with Hogun by his side. "I knew exactly what story you were sharing with our lovely new friend; I could tell straight away from 'falcon.'"

"I was prepared to conclude it," Thor grinned.

"You leave the essentials out," Fandral smirked. "Isn't that right, Sif?"

"He never tells it quite right, but he's concise in the beginning," Sif said, shaking her head slightly.

"Lady Natasha, I apologize that I was not able to properly introduce myself prior," Fandral said, stepping closer to her.

"That's perfectly fine," Natasha said. Truth be told, when she had arrived at the banquet yesterday, Fandral had been off as soon as he had said hello with some arbitrary woman who had been hanging nearby; Natasha had seen them traipse through the dizzying array of people, his hand drafting dangerously close to the unindentified female's bosom on several occasions.

Fandral gently took Natasha's hand, and, while looking in her eyes, planted a single kiss on her knuckles. "My lady," he said, and bowed.

"Must you try to bed every woman you meet!" Sif scolded, and gave him a light-hearted punch for good measure.

"Of course not," Fandral scowled, and a blush swarmed onto his face.

Natasha was unfazed by it all; she'd been hit on by men before, and as long as they weren't too forward, she was pretty much indifferent.

"I want to hear the rest of the story," Natasha said.

"Of course," Thor said. "So, Loki discovered that it was Thrym, the god of the giants, who had taken Mjolnir."

"That's probably the only honest thing he's ever told you," Sif commented.

"And, Thrym told Loki that he had hidden Mjolnir in a place where no one could find it, and if I wanted it back, the goddess Freyja must be his bride," Thor said, completely ignoring Sif's statement.

"Now, I'll take over," Fandral said. "So, after hearing the news, we decided that we could not let Freyja become that brute's bride. We came up with a better plan…to…"

He paused, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

"To what?" Natasha asked.

"To dress in Freyja's clothes, and pretend to be her," Fandral snickered.

"It is not that funny," Thor said.

"Yes, it is. So, at their supposed wedding, Thor comes along as Freyja, and, as promised, Mjolnir is also in attendance. Thor grabs Mjolnir, and we all race out of there, no harm done. Although they were quite angry with us for a while," Fandral said. He smiled widely at Natasha, waiting to see her reaction.

"That's…it? They didn't attack you?" Natasha asked, slightly confused. Obviously, once Thor grabbed Mjolnir, the giants would have quickly realized the Asgardians had duped them and attacked. There was more to the story than what they were telling her, although she knew if she interrogated them about it, she'd receive no answers.

Which meant that she'd have to ask Loki. Oh God…she could not believe that they had kissed. And she definitely was not expecting the kiss to be so…_intense. _She realized literally a millisecond after their lips had touched that it was probably a terrible decision, as most impulsive decisions turn out to be, but yet, all coherent thoughts went straight out the window. And that must've been the case for him as well…he was, er, very excited by the situation, probably more so than her, but that's how the masculine mind usually works.

After they had had their strange little hookup, Natasha immediately wondered if she had been compromised. Well, no. She initiated it. But, now, what? What did this even mean? Did she have…oh God, _feelings _for him? Thinking about 'feelings', especially towards a maniacal Norse god made her want to spew the contents of her gut all over the floor, so, she put her skillset to use, and effectively blocked things out. She had priorities, and this, whatever 'this' was, was interfering. It was so…odd.

"No…so, everyone ready for the trip? Volstagg, you have Lady Natasha prepared?" Fandral asked.

"Yes, I gave her all that she needs! We are more than prepared to go. The horses are outdoors as well," Volstagg declared.

As they (finally) left the weaponry room, they travested downstairs, and emerged through a set of double-doors overlooking a stone pathway, where five prominent horses stood, clamoring to each other.

"You know how to ride?" Fandral asked, squeezing between Volstagg and Hogun to reach Natasha, who was in front of the pack, by Sif.

"Kind of," Natasha said, "I know the rudimentaries."

"If it proves to be too difficult, you may ride with me, together, on my horse," Fandral suggested, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm good," she said, curtly.

Natasha found, as she hooked her foot into a stirrup, and mounted herself over, that it was not as easy as it looked. At all. She clenched her legs tighter around the horse, and tried to gain a sturdier grip on the reins, praying that she wouldn't fall off and smash her vertebrae.

They started off at a slow trot, with Natasha gripping the reins so tightly, her knuckles were blanched white.

"You need to loosen the reins, and try to relax. Horses can sense fear, and he may try to buck you off," Sif said, her horse trotting adjacently to Natasha's.

"Okay," Natasha said, and gently loosened the reins, noticing that purple creases were painted into her skin by her tight grip previously.

"Good. Now, sit up straight. Posture is important," Sif said, and demonstrated the proper position.

Natasha was not a fan of being told what to do, but she saw that Sif had a pure intention; she was just trying to help her.

"Like this?" Natasha asked, her spine rigid. She should be quite knowledgeable in having proper poise- after all, how many times had Katya nagged her about standing straight?

"Perfect. When people are nervous, they tend to slouch forwards. I think you'll be fine," Sif said.

"Thank you. I appreciate it," Natasha replied, nodding. She looked over her shoulder, but did not see the men. "Where's everyone else?"

"Ah, they do that often. I always get to the clearing first," Sif said.

"Men will be men," Natasha said, wryly.

"Oh, yes," Sif said. "I do not know much about Midgardian men, but our men are quite pretentious at times, and lack common sense for many an occasion. Very few know the right things to say."

"That basically goes for human men as well," Natasha said, smirking. "It seems to be ubiquitous."

"As you said before, men will be men," Sif laughed. "By the way, speaking of which, think nothing of Fandral's advances. He said those sort of things when we first met."

"I'm kind of used to it," Natasha admitted, "I think it's kind of funny, actually."

"Really?" Sif said, incredulously. "Most women are either miffed, or, well, become popular characters in stories he relays at the pubs."

"How classy of him," Natasha deadpanned.

"It's just how he is. He does make for a good companion, however. But, he is not the only romancer in the kingdom," Sif said, a hard edge creeping into her voice.

"Whom do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"Well, well, our very own God of Mischief. Or rather I say, ex-god," Sif said, and laughed bitterly.

"Loki's a…what?" she asked.

"To use the common folk's diction, whore. He's a whore," Sif said.

"Loki's a whore?" Natasha inquired, looking at Sif, whose gaze was focused on the trail in front of her.

"Oh, do not even get me _started _on that. He'll fornicate with anything that moves. His sexual appetite cannot be satiated," Sif said.

"Oh," Natasha said. She didn't know what else to say, but Sif kept on talking, which filled the vacuous void of silence.

"Yes. It cannot be. He tells people that he's stuck with Thor's rejects, and we're all supposed to pity him and think of him as though he's a rejected child, but that's not the case. Many a maiden have been deflowered by him, without any prior rejection by Thor, or monetary payment. Loki's a walking, living, breathing coital instigator on legs," Sif said, and added under her breath, "_But I can change that._"

"He is a chauvinistic animal. He merely seeks to satisfy his own hedonistic tendencies; he does not desire for a wife, or any form of commitment. He plays games, especially with a female who rejects him in the beginning. It's a sort of an odd challenge for him. He makes her feel like she is different, that she is special, and, she may be snarky and strong-willed in the beginning, but by the end, she's reduced to a blithering mess, at her knees by his feet. After he beds the woman, he acts like he doesn't know her. He's broken many a heart," Sif concluded.

With a sideways glance at Sif, Natasha wondered if she was one of the many women Loki had taken to bed, and then disregarded. Speaking of which, which may have been true, was this Loki's goal? To achieve some sort of closeness, just to, just to fuck her? Did Loki see this as some sort of game? Well, why did she even _care_? To imply that she would not want Loki to see her solely for her physical assets meant that she'd want more, she'd want, good God, a _relationship. _That word had such a gooey, sentimental connotation that it made her want to barf. She did not want a goddamn fucking relationship with the maniac. She didn't want anything. You know what, maybe she _did _want a quick hook-up with someone; she hadn't had a session of sex in over a decade, and she was fine with it. But no, she'd end up in Loki's infamous book of whores.

Natasha willed for the hot flush in her cheeks to go away- _now. _She ran a hand through her dampened locks, and straightened up. How could she do this? What was she playing into? No. No. She must remember her duty. She must not go astray. Never, never again.

"That's awful," Natasha said, in response to Sif.

"Yes. Be careful. I'd advise you to keep your distance. Although that must be difficult, as I understand you are supposed to keep watch over him, or something of that nature," Sif said.

"Superficially," Natasha answered.

"Oh, ho, ho, can you keep up with us _now_?" Volstagg boomed, as he suddenly rode by Natasha and Sif on his horse, raising his fist ceremoniously. A split second later, Fandral, Hogun, and Thor were on his heels, yelling pompously.

"I'll stay with you," Sif said, "We're almost there."

By 'almost' she meant in ten seconds. The clearing consisted of a bank of viciously ensnarled grass overlooking a thin stream, with the sunlight scintillating off the surface of the water like electrical sparks. Trees drooped their wizened arms towards the waterway as though in salutation. Flowers which resembled an open hand bordered the stream, and were of a multitude of colors. It was a quiet, serene place, where one could simply sit and think, much like the arboretum in the Stark Towers, except that could not compare to the miraculous beauty of the clearing.

They left their horses to drink and graze, and set off through the woods, weapons in hand.

xxx

Natasha had somehow separated from the group. She wasn't sure how, or when to be exact, but she had wandered down a certain path, and, after a while, realized that her companions were nowhere to be found. Oh, God, how could she be so stupid? Obviously, the animals they were hunting were completely different than the animals on Earth, and probably larger and more lethal.

Of course, thinking like that would-

Natasha froze. She had suddenly heard a strange growling noise, akin to a tiger. Her clammy palms shook out an arrow from her quiver, and attached it to the bow slung across her back. All of a sudden, her hands were itching for something more potent; her gun, in specific. Even Clint's arrows were equipped with explosives. These weapons were primitive. Granted, they weren't stone daggers or anything like that, but she had no idea what a puny arrow would do against, say, a beast that could possibly be the size of a T-Rex. She had her sword, but that would mean she'd have to be within arm-reach if she were to slay it, or injure it.

Maybe it was a mundane rodent, or some sort of small creature, and she was over-thinking it.

With an abrasive crash that sounded behind her, she swiftly turned around, to meet eyes the color of the sun. The pair of eyes belonged to a creature the size of an elephant, with violet skin stretched over its bulbous body. It had five horns the color of polished silver, protruding sharply from its forehead. Fangs the size of her forearm dug into its chin, which was slimy with saliva that dripped from its gaping, panting mouth. Claws scratched illicit patterns into the dirt; dust rose in fumes around the creature.

Natasha didn't dare make a single movement, as it could provoke the creature to attack her. It seemed inevitable that it would do so, anyways, but she'd try to prolong it.

Without warning, the thing, unleashing a fantastical roar, charged at her. She threw herself to the side, and narrowly escaped becoming a human shish kabob.

She quickly got to her feet, and stumbled down a steep hill that had flanked her on the side she had ducked to. Unfortunately, as she was sliding on her back, praying that her skull wouldn't come into contact with a rock, the beast quickly figured out where she had gone to, and had begun to thunder down the same hill which Natasha was sliding down on; free of trees. Natasha, luckily, had the bow in her hand, and, trying to seek some sort of target, let one loose. Its hot, pungent breath swarmed over her like a heat wave, its claw poised to sink into her ankle, when- the arrow sank into its face, and it bellowed, momentarily distracted by its goal to devour Natasha. The hill led to a cluster of trees, which she blindly tore through in a raw panic, the branches lashing at her arms, drawing dank stripes of blood.

Although shooting the monster was essential in her escape, it did not stop it in its quest to slaughter Natasha and roast her over a spitting flame. Footsteps, which sounded like bombs exploding, thundered after her still, with her shooting arrows at arbitrary angles, none of which were hitting. Finally, she was free of the thicket, and was thrown into a multitudinous field, the beast's hot breath coating her back. She pulled the sword free from the sheath, and watched, with a certain horror, how the beast had stopped once more, and was scratching the ground with its claws, preparing for battle.

Running was futile, and entirely superfluous. There was nothing much she could do. Natasha took a tentative step forward, and promptly fell on her bottom. Surprised, she extended a hand, and realized that there was a muddy pathway cut in the centre of the field. This could be used to her advantage.

Apparently the creature was finished girding its loins for battle, or whatever it was doing, because it made another charge at Natasha. With her sword yielded in shaking hands, a foot set in front of her, she felt that was she was about to do was stupid, and that, she'd possibly die. It was odd because the thought of death never seemed to faze her, even when it did seem imminent.

As she watched its strange yellow eyes, and felt its presence encroach nearer, until finally, she was almost face to face with it, she tore her heel through the mud, and slid, fast as lightning, beneath the fat belly of the monster. She thrust her sword up, in a savage, quick motion, and penetrated what felt to be a hard palate, until she hit the jackpot; hot blood squirted all over her face; the metallic scent and taste overwhelmed her, and blinded her, but yet, she managed to roll away just in time before its body crashed to the ground.

She crawled as far away from the animal's dead body as she could muster, and then collapsed on her back in utter fatigue, dried blood crusted on her face, her sword dangling from limp fingers.

* * *

"Is she in there? I would like to speak to her," Loki said, trying to sidestep that bastard, Kendrick, who was blocking the doors leading to Natasha's chamber; it was actually one of the hospital rooms, as it was placed directly in correlation with the main healing center. He wondered why Natasha was still enclosed in one of these rooms.

"She has just returned from a perilous hunting trip. She is not in the mood to see you, or anyone for that matter," Kendrick said, his eyes narrowing.

"What do you mean by perilous?" Loki asked. "Was she hurt?"

"No. But she was attacked by a bilgesnipe," Kendrick said. "It's a miracle that she wasn't hurt."

"What?! No, you must be jesting. It's impossible for a mortal to avoid the wrath of bilgesnipe. They're lethal, even to our kind!" Loki proclaimed.

"Well, she proved the impossible to be possible. I suggest that you leave now," Kendrick said.

"How dare you speak to royalty like that," Loki spat. "You have no right."

"I can speak any way I wish to prisoners," Kendrick said defiantly.

"I am not a prisoner," Loki said, his teeth gritted.

"If you say so," Kendrick said. "Good-bye now."

Loki stormed off, his hands curled into fists. Once he managed to return to his own chambers, he slammed the door, and collapsed on his bed, his arms sprawled out languidly.

That. Insolent. _Ba__stard. _He'd never liked Kendrick to begin with. Even before the entire scandal broke out over the fight for the throne, he'd never treated him like royalty. To Loki, Kendrick was but a mere peasant. He had no right to order a _prince _around.

It was immensely frustrating, even more so just to think of Natasha. He wasn't sure what had happened between them the previous night. One moment, she was angry with him, and the next, her mouth was on his, her hands wandering all over his body. He had always imagined what it would be like to kiss her. She was a woman of conviction and utter strength; she startled him, and invigorated him. It was absurd; in the course of their kissing, he found that he'd gotten a bit too, ah, excited, and was embarrassed, but she had acted upon that.

And now, he had no idea of what she was feeling. He knew that she'd gone for a hunting trip with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three for the day, and that she must be back by now. And, she had been attacked by bilgesnipe?!

He wasn't even sure if he _wanted _to see her. Well, yes, he did, but when they did meet again, then what? Would they just pretend it didn't happen? What was she to him, anyways? He did not know where this would lead to. Would he bed her?

If he was to bed her, he realized that there were several things that could possibly occur: their friendship would dissipate, they'd never speak to each other again, or they would carry out a love affair. He was, well, slightly afraid. He did not want to lose her companionship. He felt that she was one of the few people who actually understood him, and didn't judge him excessively. He felt soothed by her presence, even if it was cantankerous at times.

It was a conflicting, confusing mix of emotions, and he had no idea how to deal with any of it.

To distract himself, he pored through one of his favorite books of lore, until he heard the dull chiming from the clock above his mantle. As he looked up, he realized it was very late, and that any partygoers were long gone.

Sleep seemed to evade him at this point, and as he opened his door, he noticed both of his guards were sleeping. Before, he'd managed to leave because his guards had foolishly gone off drinking, and he knew that they wouldn't be back for a while. And here they were: the outcome.

He strode down several stairways, and looped around hallways, hoping that no one would see him and alert Asgardian authorities, or anything of that matter.

After a while, looting around in one of more or less abandoned compartments of the palace, he came to the training rooms. He paused for a moment, his hand trailing down the elaborately etched door, thinking of all of the times he and Thor used to come here, and spar. He used to rather enjoy coming here.

He opened the door, and his eyes widened.

There, right at the heart of the room, was a certain Natasha Romanoff, holding a bow, ready to unleash the springs, and sink the arrow into the designated target. However, her stance was completely off, and by the looks of it, the arrow probably wouldn't make it to the target; it may hit the outermost layer, if even.

But, before she could shoot the bow, she turned around to face him, the weapon still gripped firmly in her hands, although not pointed at him.

"Hello," he said, and walked over to her.

She was staring at him with a null expression, her lips tightly pursed.

"Are you…alright?" he asked. "I heard that you fought a bilgesnipe."

"I have to go," she said, abruptly, and passed by him, silent.

He lunged for her, and grabbed her wrist. "Why are you treating me like this?"

"Let go of me, Loki," she said, in a distant voice, her green eyes briefly meeting with his, before looking sharply away.

"What did I do? Is this because of last night?" He asked, incredulously. "You initiated it!"

"And I'm ending it," she said, coldly. "I am not your whore."

"I don't think you're a whore, at all, I respect you tremendously, and-"

Her fist collided with the side of his face, knocking him completely off guard. As she turned to leave, he kicked the back of her knees, causing them to give out, sending her to the floor. She aimed a swift roundhouse kick to his head, which he intercepted.

Rolling on top of her, he pressed his elbow into her stomach, watching as her breath grew winded. However, this position did not last long, because she grabbed his hair, and kneed him in the chest; he loosened his grip, and she delivered a swift back-hand to his face, which he took, and then, grabbing her hair, pulled her to the ground once more.

Grunting, she looped her legs around his hips, and sprung upwards, causing her to attain the upper hand; she had him pinned, and held this compromising position by sticking her forearm under his chin.

He laughed. "I knew you'd do that."

She didn't say anything, her eyes almost cruelly glinting in the overhead light.

He slammed his elbow into her rib cage, knocking her momentarily off kilter. She slapped her palm to his face, her fingernails sinking into his flesh.

He bent her wrist backwards, and rolled on top of her once more, only to have her reject this, and throw him back down to the ground.

In the midst of all of this, when she was holding his wrist in the air, a droplet of sweat coursing down her brow, he pressed his lips to hers; soft as they had been before.

He felt a hand grip his hair, tugging sharply, and he lay on top of her, his mouth moving in sync with hers, his hands cupping her face.

Under him, the weight of her felt so real, but he felt as if he were in some sort of dream, some sort of trance. Her body was so soft, so warm beneath him, so alive…He let a hand trail down her side, and rest on her hip.

Their eyes popped open simultaneously; her face was flushed, and she was breathing hard.

"I'm sorry," he offered, although it was a pathetic apology, and he wasn't sure whether or not he should've given it, or why.

"Can you get off?" she asked, and he did.

She sat beside him, and they stared out into the distance.

"What did Sif tell you?" Loki chuckled.

"Excuse me?"

"Did she tell you I am a whore?"

"Yes."

"Typical Sif," he growled. "That title is more fitting to Fandral."

"Are you stuck in your room all day?" Natasha suddenly asked.

"Technically. But I managed to leave today, as my guards are imbeciles," Loki sneered.

"Odin asked me to meet with him tomorrow. At seven-thirty, I believe. At nine, can we meet in my room?" Natasha asked, glancing up at him.

"Best of luck with that," Loki said, laughing. "He's a real pleasure to be around. I'll try to make it to your room."

"Good. And don't mention this to anyone, Loki," Natasha said.

They both stood up, and made for the door.

"You're a confusing woman, odds and sorts, and all of that," Loki said.

"We'll see about that."

* * *

**Author's note: Yay! It's the holidays. I just felt like pointing this out, because I'm excited.**

**Anyways, I want to let people know that if you don't have a fanfiction account and you want to contact me or ask me questions, email me at thewriterscompany23 . I'm aware that it sounds horribly pretentious, and I apologize for that.**

**I received an overwhelming amount of reviews, favorites, and followers, and I want to say thank you to all of you, I love you, and I'm so happy you guys love this story as much as I do.**

**Someone asked me if Natasha is going to have a baby, and I just really want to clear this up. This may make me lose followers, but, it's necessary. Natasha will never get pregnant and have a baby in this story...or any other story I write about her. I can't bring myself to domesticize her (if that's even a word) because she's not maternal. She's an assassin. And, I feel that I'd be violating her character. **

**I'm not trying to offend anyone, or disappoint anyone. There are many, many interesting things yet to come.**

**Speaking of which, in the next chapter, there will be major drama between Loki and Natasha. So, stay tuned for that! There will be either three or four more chapters in Asgard.**

**Thank you to the following reviewers:**

**-Anon89**

**-MissSpasticEnthuseastic**

**-Stripedwhite**

**-Joy**

**-madison**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**-smallsteps32**

**Much love, and happy holidays, everyone!**

**-soirblanche**

**xoxo**


	20. I Want to Break Free

"Hello, Sif. It's a shame that we haven't had the opportunity to speak to each other yet…no?"

"What do you want, Loki?" she snapped, stepping out from her horse's stable, a brush clenched in her hand. She threw him a ferocious glare.

"Nothing. Why do you always assume that there's something I desire from you?" Loki said, grinning.

"You're the equivocal trickster, Loki, you wear your tilted crown with much pride," Sif scoffed, tapping her foot against the dampened earth.

"I thank you for the title you have bestowed upon me. You've always been such an eloquent speaker, Sif, have I ever told you that?"

"No..."

"I should. So well-spoken, and articulate. Your stories and speeches are fodder for excellence," Loki said, giving her a patronizing grin.

"Flattering me won't work," Sif said.

Loki laughed. "Oh, Sif. You really need to learn the difference between flattery and sarcasm."

Sif's eyes widened.

"Now, now, I understand that you're quite livid over the fact that you were heavy on drink one night and you crawled into my bed, but you do not have to spin preposterous tales that I cannot control my loins just to boost your crushed ego."

Sif's nostrils were flared, and she had begun to hyperventilate. "Everything I said was absolutely true. And Natasha? You are obviously trying to bed her as well; she is a _mortal_, for all of Valhalla! Thor has told me of your escapades with her, and-"

"Of course, the conversation always goes back to Thor," Loki chuckles.

"You're just jealous, because-"

"Oh, shut it, you blabbering tramp. This is not about my supposed "jealousy", you are simply manifesting your own wishes for Thor to leave his mortal woman and join you by your bedside. It is so blatantly obvious you may as well just wear a sign painted across your forehead!" Loki sneered.

"There is absolutely _nothing _going on between me and Thor!"

"Oh, yes, and I completely believe that," Loki said, rolling his eyes. "You're absolutely pathetic, Sif. You are the true palace whore, trying to make yourself out to be a virginal innocent."

"You don't know what you're messing with, and I advise that you stop. You're an evil lunatic, and it's no surprise that you did what you did. I always knew there was something off about you."

"Very good, Sif. Although, since this is my practiced craft, I know exactly what you are doing. It's almost comical, actually," Loki chuckled. "Attempting to change the topic from you to me is not working in your case. It's rather…funny how you appear to have no real stable argument against me, despite your pitchy allegations that I am a lunatic."

"What do you want, Loki?" Sif sighed, rubbing her eyes.

"To stop filling Natasha's head with outrageous lies concerning me."

"I don't have to do anything you tell me to. I'm an honored dignitary. You are the ostracized prince who started a _war._"

"Your memory is rather weak, Sif, for one who professes that it's strong. Do you not recall the day where Thor marched into Jotunheim, gallant as always, and attacked the frost giants, due to being provoked by a petty insult?"

"You led him into doing so. You let the frost giants into Asgard in the first place."

"I was testing him. I know him better than all of you who claim to be his friends. He was not even close to acquiring the proper mindset of a true king's! He handled the frost giant situation poorly. Besides, after his tryst on Midgard, he came back a better man, did he not?"

Sif looked at him oddly, her head tilted to the side. "You're quite odd, Loki. You appear to loathe your brother; you appear to desire to scorch the ground that he walks upon. Yet, you admit that he came back to Asgard a "better man." Yet, you drone on about how he couldn't have possibly been redeemed in the span of three days. You contradict yourself; that foible may have cost you."

"_I _do not think he is a "better man." I was voicing the ubiquitous opinion of the general populus, ignorant as always," Loki spat.

"If you say so. I have better things to do," Sif said, turning around, and walking away.

Loki silently watched her leave, his eyes narrowing at the harlot's swaying form.

* * *

Odin was seated in his throne, his hand gripping his golden staff, the other stroking his white beard. He had told the Lady Natasha to meet him at his hour, to discuss certain matters. What he was considering at the moment was exactly how much to tell her. The way things were now was a harbinger for that which was to come. Dark times were descending upon Asgard.

He'd spoken with Thor on multiple occasions through the stone; their connection had never been lost. Of course, it had been difficult to establish a link between Midgard and Asgard at first, but then, through an expedition through the boiling, barren wastelands of Muspelheim, he'd stumbled upon a cave which many claimed bestowed grand treasure. That was the proverbial legend, although he hadn't actually seen anything of value when he had ventured there. The cave looked like it had been carved by the hands of a novice architect; the lines were crudely shaped; they were convoluted. Shards of jagged rock crusted with antediluvian dirt stabbed in arbitrary angles. By a superficial glance, the cave appeared to be nothing but overnight shelter for pilgrims or heinous creatures that were rejected from society.

But amidst the thick walls of stone, a curved blade thrust by one of Odin's men happened to stick in the right spot, and dislodged something that was invaluable to Odin: the stone.

Since, he'd been able to communicate with Thor. He needed him back urgently. Of course, Loki's exile was a prerequisite, considering the nature of his crime, but that was shoved to the side for more urgent matters: the fate of Asgard.

Odin personally believed that he did what was best for his planet, and for the nine realms. But, at one point, he may have been morally erroneous. Or maybe he was just trying to invent excuses. He had a severe altercation with one who held tremendous power long ago, and when that foe threatened that he'd smite Odin one day in return, he had merely brushed off the threat and resumed his kingship, worry-free.

Of course, he had to consider what his enemy wanted, and why. It was not as simple as their disagreement, and it breached many areas where it should not have. The past is the past, as he liked to remind himself. But now, the past is the future, and it was inevitable. Odin wanted his eldest back by his side, prepared to fight. Thor was aware there were problems occurring in the universe, between powers, but he did not know the severity of them. And, Odin made sure that Loki was back by his side, in case he decided to regroup with the enemy, and possibly spill the most intrinsic of Asgard's secrets.

In any case, Asgard's army was training for the imminent, and Odin was already making preparations. Of course, the Midgardian was here, but Odin did not plan on telling her everything. He did not trust the humans wholeheartedly; he respected them tremendously but the entire Shield organization was a bit suspicious.

But, he had to remember the sheer power that the Avengers had displayed. He was ambiguous on whether they'd be any match for the forces of what was to come.

"Sir," a servant spoke, his eyes doe-like. "She's here."

"Good. Send her in," Odin ordered.

The Midgardian swept into the room, lacking the usual apprehension displayed by most beings, apart from his family, who entered the throne room.

She was beautiful, and paralleled many Asgardian women in her pulchritude. She wore a gown that scintillated like the glowing surface of a reflecting pool, and brought out the feminine features that many men overlooked; the sharpness of the collar bone, the slender wrists, the delicate bone structure.

From what he'd heard, she was anything but delicate. The act of fragility was merely a ruse; beneath her silk veneer lurked a serrated coating, which sliced the skin of one who came too close to her iron heart. He could tell, by her poised manner, much like a lioness stalking her prey, that she was trained not only to defend, but to kill. That she'd been through wars, and battles, and for some of those perilous fights, her physical form was adrift, and her soul was fighting to stay pure.

He could see it in her green eyes, seemingly impassive to the world; her red mouth was curved in a smile. However, it was a smile of one who had suffered immense pain, immense emotional toil that wrenched the strings of her heart, and twisted her into something she never wanted to be. She appeared to be on the wavering path of redemption, her stance solid, but shaky at times.

He met her eyes, which glowed with mirth, and he tried to reach out to her mind, only to find a gray, dense mass of nothing. No, not nothing- it was a wall that acted as a safeguard against the evils that truly lurked.

For a Midgardian, he was oddly impressed. After all, Thor had told him she duped Loki back at the floating fortress. Loki was not easily fooled.

"Lady Natasha," Odin said, inclining his head.

"Odin," Natasha said, somewhat stiffly, and inclined her head as well.

She obviously did not know the proper title to address him by, but he was willing to let it slide.

"It is splendid to finally look upon the face of whom Loki talked so animatedly about prior."

"Loki talked about me," Natasha deadpanned.

"And why wouldn't he?" Odin asked, his one eye twinkling. "So, I apologize for the unceremonious and unexpected arrival to Asgard."

"It's alright. It couldn't be helped."

"Of course." Odin stood, and walked down the miniature set of stairs descending from his throne, his robe running over the individual steps like ripples in water.

He approached Natasha, who looked anything but awkward, given the circumstance. She did not fidget with her hair, as most females did, nor did she pick at the fabric of her dress. Her hands lay by her side, and she stood tall, her breathing pattern regular.

"You appear to be rather confident," Odin stated, standing directly in front of her. He motioned towards two ornate chairs. "May we sit? I find that communication would be rather difficult if I were to speak to you from my throne."

Natasha silently took her seat, and crossed her legs.

Once Odin sat, his staff still gripped firmly in his right hand, he smiled. "How have you been enjoying your journey?"

"It's been interesting," she replied.

"The food? The merriment? I understand that it may be overwhelming."

"No. It's nice to see people celebrating and living their lives how they ought to be lived."

"We do have one life, albeit a long one, and we must not let it go to waste, of course."

"Agreed."

"Do you often go to parties and banquets?"

"Sometimes. With my job it's a bit of a squeeze."

"I can imagine. And you work for…"

"Shield."

She said things in a very calm, almost blunt manner. He wasn't sure whether he loathed her or felt some sort of comfort, or serenity by her presence. He sensed that she was striving for the common good, but at the same time, the white spirit she was aiming to envelop was tainted by a darker entity he could not place.

"Shield…that is the corporation your Avengers operate for, yes?"

"Yes. Fury wanted us to speak about relations between our planets. We are assuaged, of course, due to Thor's gratuitous help in avenging Earth, that your people are good people. And we mean no harm to you as well."

"I wholeheartedly believe that, my dear. If I thought your people harbored any sort of evil, I would not have sent Thor or Loki there to be redeemed. Although, with Loki, I do not believe he is anywhere near ready to return to the life he once led."

"Pardon my asking, but, why is Loki back here?"

"I wanted to monitor his progress."

"Ah, I see."

She did not "see." She doubted him. But at the moment, Odin was indifferent to this.

"Lady Natasha, it is good to see that all is well with Midgard. All is well here. It was nice speaking with you, truly."

Natasha's eyes shifted side to side in a fleeting moment; she looked rather confused. However, her composure soon recovered. "That's…all?"

"Yes. Good night. It was lovely speaking to you as well."

"Should we arrange a meeting for tomorrow?" Natasha asked, her voice at a lower pitch than usual.

"No, no. It's not necessary."

"Then…what should I do for the time being?"

"Enjoy yourself, have drink! Keep eye on Loki as well."

She abruptly stood; her face was once again utterly impassive; the divine poker face which was permanently fixed, even after the game had ended.

"It was nice speaking to you. Good day." She turned to leave.

* * *

It was a null void to even bother arguing with the old man. Although Odin is esteemed as wise, and all-knowing, Natasha felt as though she was dealing with a child. Arguing with him would amount to nothing. However, she was far from giving up. She'd discover the clandestine, secretive information he withheld from her. He was withholding something. And she'd find out exactly what.

* * *

It was time. Loki slipped on a dark cloak, one which would make him seem inconspicuous. Of course, it was rather difficult at times to slip out unnoticed, but tonight, he had found the necessary materials in his room to make a potent sleeping formula, which he placed in his guards' food. He creaked open his door, and saw with satisfaction how the two miscreants were soundly asleep, mouths gaping open.

Smirking, he silently shut his door, and then peered down the hallway, scanning for any people. No one encroached the royal chambers, save for members of the royal _family. _One of the few exceptions was Natasha's little espionage trip. Speaking of which, how did Thor not detect her presence?

Blithering fool. However, he was not complaining.

Loki slipped down the surreptitious set of stairs that ended at the sinuous pathway that would bring him to Natasha's room. He wasn't completely sure why she wanted to see him. She appeared to be livid at their last meeting, but she reciprocated his kiss, instead of smashing his face into the floor, so he felt that they were on stable ground. Well, not really stable. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

He knocked on her door, and almost immediately she opened it. Without really glancing at her, he slipped inside the room. Most would have just stared at her dumbly, but he was too nervous about being caught by any lurkers. Normally, he would've simply used an invisibility spell, but he was completely stripped of his magical powers. When he had returned to Asgard, he had expected for at least an iota of what he had before to return. It would have been immensely satiating to at least be able to levitate objects. Now, he resorted to scouring his room for ingredients to make the simplest of spells. It was rather infuriating.

"Hello."

He turned to look at her, and his eyes widened. She was dressed in no more than a bathrobe, the tips of her curly hair gracing her shoulders.

He forced himself to look into her eyes, rather than the assets she displayed lower. Slowly, each syllable rolling off his tongue like a thick mass of honey. "How did your meeting with Odin go?"

She stopped moving, fiddling idly with the ribbon looped around her waist. "He's hiding something."

"He always is."

"I feel like it's something that will have a grave impact on your planet. He was too eager to shoo me out. He had a perverse reaction to where I said I worked."

"What do you mean?" Loki asked, a line appearing in the center of his eyebrows.

"Something changed in his eyes. I don't know if I trust him."

"Two days from now, there's a Council meeting. I have harbored the same suspicions; something's quite off in the man's demeanor. He lacks the overconfidence he once had. I can feel it, Natasha."

"Feel what?"

"Something…is just not right with Asgard. It's tainted."

"Is your planet going to be attacked?" Natasha asked.

Loki raised his eyebrows. "That, I am not certain of. What will your precious Shield do?"

"Fury would be torn. He doesn't know the people very well, he doesn't know what makes them tick, to be specific. I've received a taste of what the aristocracy may be like here. But, what about the plebeians?" Natasha asked.

"The common people? They are a mélange of sorts." Loki began pacing the room. "This cannot last."

"What, this lack of movement?"

"You read me surprisingly well. There is absolutely no way for you to truly grasp the nature of Asgard without venturing outwards. I'll meet you at dawn, in your chamber."

"Loki, how are you able to make it out of your room at daybreak?" Natasha asked.

"I have my ways."

"We're not going to go very deep in the forest, are we?"

"You stumbled upon the part where bilgesnipe nest. I'll show you a better portion, where food is made readily available, and the streams are sweet."

"You're beginning to sound like the rest of the Asgardians," Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

"I am simply stating truths." Loki turned back to face her.

"Yes." Natasha's face undertook a slightly strange expression; contemplative. "Do you know why I called you to my room tonight?"

"To discuss matters? Which is what we've been doing, for quite a while," Loki replied.

"Oh, yes. To discuss matters." Her fingers began fidgeting with the ribbon once more. "You know…I've been following the rules lately. For a long time. I never do anything that would be considered risky towards the future of my job. Yes, my life is endangered often, but…that's not what I mean."

"You want your own sort of freedom, a blatant reprieve. The things…the people we are not supposed to get close to often intrigue us the most, hmm?" Loki took a single step towards her, noticing how calm her demeanor remained, a paradox to the startling words which came out of her mouth.

"You understand. Of course you do." Natasha wrapped her right hand around her left wrist, and with a quick movement executed by her index finger, her comlink detached. She gently placed it on the dresser.

Loki's eyes widened, following the path she had taken to remove the communication device.

Her hand came to rest on the ribbon once more, and suddenly, her fingers pulled apart the loose knotting, and the robe fell to the ground, the silky material pooled around her feet.

* * *

**Author's note: Oh damn.**

**I am so evil to give you guys a cliffhanger like that. I'll try my best to update soon, though. I planned on having his chapter out sooner, but alas, the holidays placed a glitch in my plan.**

**I tried to make the whole Asgard situation as vague as possible. I'm still figuring that out.**

**Thank you to the people who have added Point of No Return to their alert list. I know I say this a lot, but, really, thanks for all of the support. **

**Thank you to the following reviewers:**

**-Guest**

**-Anon89**

**-wolftattoo**

**-theponkey123**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**I absolutely love reviews, and every single one of you on top contributed very sweet and insightful reviews. I totally love you guys.**

**By the way, I tried putting my email up on the last author's note and it was a complete fail. I'll just write it out. So, it's: thewriterscompany23 and it's at yahoo dot com. I hope that works. The site lopped off the last part of the address.**

**Anyways, I hope you guys have a splendid new years! Whoo! 2013! :D**

**-soirblanche**

**xoxo**


	21. Need your Loving Tonight

**Sorry for the long wait. It's a short chapter I managed to put out. There is smut, just as a warning, but it's not too graphic or gross or anything like that. I also don't write a lot of smut, so...I hope it's decent!**

* * *

Natasha stepped out of the pile of silk splashed around her ankles, her eyes never leaving Loki's, her mouth curved in a smirk that was almost patronizing.

He didn't say a word. He always told her that he could never be surprised, that he held life's deck of cards in his palms, that his aura was constantly prescient. And now, she'd done the simplest of gestures: one loose knot, one languid twist of the fingers, and she was completely exposed to him. She reveled in this shock that emanated from him in heat waves; his eyes were as big as saucers, and, honestly, he had the facial expression of someone who had been slapped.

He raised an eyebrow then, his gaze traveling from her eyes, to her shoulders, to her breasts, her torso, all the way to her feet.

Then he made direct eye contact with her, and said, "What are you doing?"

Gesturing to her body, she said, "Offering to play Scrabble."

"You have some ulterior motive," he accused, still keeping his distance from her. "You're testing me."

"If you're this reluctant, then I guess Sif was wrong," Natasha said, and bent down to retrieve her robe. She tied it back on. "Leave."

"I am reluctant because I do not know why you are doing this, or what for. I cannot trust you. You've used your feminine wiles to trick me to do things I didn't want to, and I shall not be forsaken again!"

She was very quiet for a moment. Then she raised her head and said, "I shouldn't have done this. I just wanted to see what it'd feel like if you'd…just go." She turned her back on him, and motioned towards the door. She tapped her foot and waited for the sound of the door closing.

Instead, she felt a hand rest on her hip, and lips by her ear.

"You wanted to know what it would feel like if I…" Loki whispered into her ear, sliding his arm across her stomach so that the back of her was pressed into his chest. "If I…what, exactly, I don't believe you finished your sentence," he said, and delicately nipped her earlobe.

"Aren't you worried that I'll use my feminine wiles to trick you," she deadpanned.

He trailed kisses down her soft neck, his fingers tracing over her curvy hip simultaneously. She broke away from him, curtailing his action. He was momentarily confused, but then smiled as her fingers unclasped his cloak, which then thudded to the ground. She attacked the bindings of his shirt, almost ripping the fabric in the process. Once his shirt was off, she immediately went for his pants, almost as if this was some sort of marathon that she must win.

She was moving so fast that he barely had any time to savor anything; she pressed his naked body onto the bed, and curled her fingers around him. She then lifted her robe so she could straddle him in the best way possible, but he stopped this by grabbing her wrist.

"Oh, c'mon, what now," she panted, her eyes wild in the firelight.

He sat up then, and reached out towards her. He ran a hand down her chest, until he reached the ribbon which bound the robe, and undid it. He slid his hands over her shoulders, and slipped the garment off of her, so she was in the same state of dress as him.

He wrapped an arm around her back, and pulled her close to him, so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. His fingers trailed down her spine.

He kissed her then, softly, before whispering, "This is _not _a race."

She swallowed hard. He was looking at her like no man had before. And that this wasn't going to be some fast fuck where she'd barely look at the person, and where it'd only last about five minutes.

"I plan," he said, kissing her neck once more, "To make you scream."

"Then do it," she said, with gritted teeth, and slid a hand down his torso.

He grinned then, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and laid her down gently on the bed. He pressed an open kiss to her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers briefly. He kissed her collarbone, and then sucked the heated skin, his eyes darting up to gauge her reaction. Her face was impassive, her eyes skywards. His hand cupped her breast, and his thumb brushed over her nipple. He kissed her there, then, and slowly rolled his tongue around her nipple, satisfied with the way her breathing expedited. Her heart was utterly pounding.

He nibbled and kissed down her torso, noting the goosebumps that suddenly dotted her flesh. She shifted her hips, and lightly ran her fingernails over the sheets. He pressed an open kiss to her hipbone, and raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if she understood the harbinger.

He then pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.

He felt her hands dig into his hair, tugging him upwards so that she could see him clearer.

"What are you doing," Natasha said, her eyes still on the ceiling.

"What does it look like I'm doing," Loki smirked.

"You don't have to do _that," _she pointed out.

"You mean that no one's ever," he bent his head, "Done this to you before?" He kissed her thigh once more, his long fingers clasping her hips.

"No," she said, her voice suddenly shaky.

He kissed her closer to the designated spot, inhaling her scent.

He made sure her eyes were on his when he kissed her most sensitive region, his tongue swiping through delicate nerves. She moaned, and gripped his hair so hard, he felt that it'd tear right out of the roots. No matter. He felt heat rush through his system as well. This was the best satisfaction, and motivated by her enticing sounds, which gave him great pleasure, he set himself to work. He vacillated between languid motions and fast motions; making mental notes of the spots she enjoyed the most. There was one particular spot that he nibbled gently, causing her to emit a sound he hadn't known possible from her.

She was shaking, her hips grinding against him, almost involuntarily.

"Loki…" her fingers gripped the sheets so tightly, her knuckles were bleached white.

She said his name. At that moment, when he looked at her, her hair matted to her neck, a thin film of sweat coating her body, he wanted to feel her against him, he wanted to feel her grip his shoulders as she came around him, moaning his name like she had done before.

She gently cupped his cheek, her thumb trailing his cheekbone. "Now."

He pressed one more kiss to her nether region, and then stalked back over her, until his face was realigned with hers once more. Her eyes were half-closed. She gripped his face, and kissed him hard. He positioned himself between her legs. Never breaking from her mouth, he buried himself inside her, causing her to gasp.

She pressed him closer to her, so that she could feel all of him. He ran a hand down her back, feeling every individual vertebrae. She shuddered as his hips ground slowly into her at first, barely moving. She bit her lip, and met his eyes; his pupils were dilated. She dug her fingernails into his back, hard, and then gritted her teeth to prevent an all-out scream as he thrust into her with unprecedented fervor. He buried his face in her neck, and she held him there by looping a quivering hand into his hair.

She murmured his name, and he held her like a child who had just found their missing toy. Through the night, their breath ran short, and their legs were entangled. They rolled over more than once, and he moaned when a particularly sharp thrust caused her eyes to roll back into her head.

She then felt a familiar sensation, one that she hadn't felt in what seemed to be an eternity. Her muscles clenched him tighter than before. His hand found hers, his fingers squeezing hers tightly. His eyebrows were knit in concentration.

She came with a loud groan, and he finished seconds after her, gasping her name once (almost inaudibly) as he did so. He collapsed on top of her heaving body, trying to regain his breath. She stroked his hair gently, as he laid his head on her chest, wrapping his arms around her body. It was a bit backwards, he knew that. That she should be the one with her head on his chest. That he should be the one holding her. But the way she was running her fingers through his hair, and the way she was gently rubbing his back, was so soothing to him that he stayed in this position, his eyelids swaying shut.

* * *

"Something's amiss," she said, her eyes roaming the area. "The air reeks of misconduct."

"I feel it as well, my lady," he said, his hand gripping his prized dagger, carved out of a dragon's bone.

She ran a finger through the dull water of the basin. "Even the water's murky and tainted. Something evil has been through here."

"But we would've known."

"Or not. Some creatures carry intrinsic magic that even we cannot detect. However, these creatures are not to be taken with a light heart. Their moral compass has been cleaved."

"My lady, you do not think…"

"If so, then the nine realms are in grave, grave danger." She brushed a stray lock of golden hair behind her pointed ear.

The horses knickered then, and kicked up their front legs.

"Hjerte, love, calm down," she said, and patted her shaking horse, whose eyes were wide open.

"We should leave," he said, a wrinkle forming in between his eyebrows.

"We can always go hunting another time," she said.

"DUCK!" he suddenly yelled. She heeded his advice, and flattened herself to the ground, missing an arrow that had been shot through the air.

He grabbed her, and they flew behind a thick tree, his dagger thrust in front of them.

"I need my bow."

"It's far too dangerous-"

She was off and running. She wrenched her bow, which had been slung over her force, and strung an arrow from her quiver into it. She heard the familiar _spring _sound the bow made when an arrow had just been shot, and she deftly swept to the side, just in time.

Squinting one eye shut, she estimated the general direction, and shot her own arrow off towards it.

A sharp cry followed immediately after. Her bodyguard ran into the thicket then, with her on his heels.

They brushed through stinging trees, and thorny branches, before coming to the figure sprawled on the ground, an arrow sunken into its lung.

She kicked away a clump of moss, and strode towards the attacker, not bothering to lift her dress, which was trailing along the dirt floor.

The attacker had a mottled green face, with a crisp, scarlet grid carved into its bald forehead. Its eyes were blacker than night. Its skin was sunken, and its mouth revealed jagged, broken teeth the color of mildew and mud. Its fingers were claws. It rasped, its obscenely long nails digging into the ground.

She tugged its weapons away, and handed them to her bodyguard, in case the creature was planning on doing something surreptitious.

"Who are you," she said, narrowing her eyes at the foul being.

It cackled and gurgled, blood seeping down its chin. "Frey, queen of the Elves. We meet again," it laughed. "More fit to be a _peasant_, if you ask me-"

Frey's bodyguard suddenly loomed over the dying creature, his dagger pressed against its neck. "No one insults my lady, _especially _not filth like you. If you do not tell me where you hail from, I'll slit your throat."

The creature grinned. "You'll allll die. He…" It gasped, "No…no…no one can…defeat…Him." With a sigh, it collapsed to the ground, its eyes focused on nothing.

Frey's guardian said, "Wait, I think I see something." He flipped the monster over onto its stomach. There was a very proverbial emblem painted in white on the back of its head.

"Is that…no…" Frey knelt to the ground, her hand trembling above its head. "It cannot be…my eyes must deceive me."

He wrapped an arm around her shaking form.

For there was the Valknut, the interlocking three horns which was Odin's symbol.

* * *

**Author's note: I know, I know, the chapter is miserably short. I've been obscenely busy lately, and I wanted to give you guys something. I did not want to go an entire month without updating like last time.**

**Anyways, I feel like a fucking asshole cause I tell myself I'll update, and then, well, shit happens, and I don't. My grades are faltering, which is difficult for me, because I'm generally a good student. And my anxiety, which I keep a secret from people, is kicking back up again, which is quite annoying. Although that's been a problem for years. Anxiety is that one person who's never invited, but comes to the party anyways.**

**Enough about me. Not meaning to damper any moods. That's just what's been transpiring. But I'm getting better, I think. And hopefully updates will be more regular. **

**I've just got to, calm down, and y'know, try to live life and stuff.**

**Thank you, everyone, for reading my story, and reviewing. You guys are the sweetest, and your undying support makes me smile. I'm getting a bit sentimental, but ah, fuck it.**

**My sincere thank yous to the following reviewers:**

**-DarlingDeathMachine**

**-Anon89**

**-Misslucky1818**

**-Sunnywynd**

**-TwiVamp-TrekkerVendetta**

**-Guest**

**-Natasha Rushman**

**-Joy**

**Hopefully I've got everyone!**

**Much love,**

**-soirblanche**


End file.
